He felt like the most powerful man on Earth, like Superman, maybe.
His cock seemed to stretch out before him like a foot-long hot dog,
as he pounded away in Miley's cunt. He entertained the thought that
he was so deep inside her he could feel all the way into her uterus.
He would draw his pecker out, almost to the very tip of the crown,
then plunge it in as forcefully as he could, causing her to gasp and
moan. Her eyes were closed, her body covered with a sheen of sweat,
her mouth open in a groan of lust. He was sweating too; he thought
he could last forever before climaxing. Never had he pumped away
in this delightful pussy as long and as hard as he was doing right
now. Their bodies were mashed together and squeaking because of
the sweat. His mouth was glued to her ear and he alternately
whispered, "Yes! Fuck! Oh, yes!" before gasping for more breath.

Her tits were pressed so tightly against him he thought for a
moment they might actually be attached to his own chest. And she
humped and thrashed against him as they both gasped and grunted,
nearing the inevitable conclusion of things. But he was Superman!
He could continue forever. He was absolutely certain of it.
She could feel him nearing the end too. She cried and began milking
his dick even before he exploded, which he did almost immediately,
in a great gusher of cum, pounding the bed with his fists, heaving
himself in an effort to be swallowed into her womb along with his
ejaculate, wanting to die and be transported into the heaven of
her womb. Oh, yes, he never, ever, wanted to see the light of day
again.

They lay still for several minutes, trying to regain control of
their breathing. Miley seemed to be humming in a low, throaty tone
as she absentmindedly stroked his hair with her fingers, waiting
for him to calm down. Gently, she milked the last drops of cum
from his penis, somehow squeezing him in a way that prevented him
from going soft on her. She had no intention of letting this one
get away. Finally he kissed her earlobe gently and whispered,
"You wanton slut. Goddamn, you're marvelous!"

She smiled the smile of a woman who has just been well-fucked,
a smile of eternal contentment, an unexpressed, mysterious joy
radiating out from her upcurved lips and her bright eyes. "Why
thank you, sir," she drawled. "You're not so bad, yourself."

Afterwards, they lay quietly in each other's arms, savoring
the touch of their bodies, the smell of their recent encounter.
His fingers gently massaged her face, his hand softly caressed her
breasts, her tummy, the fold of her pussy, her still hot inner
thighs. She sighed, then murmured, "Lover, we've got to break
up the party, I'm afraid. I've got to get back to work. A girl's
gotta feed herself, you know."

He groaned. "Oh, man, Miley, I'd give anything, anything,
to be able to take care of you so you wouldn't have to leave me
like this. I hate it when you get up and leave."

She said, "I know, lover, but I don't have a rich wife like you
who lets me lay around in bed all day screwing whoever he can get
his hands on. I have to work for a living."

He pouted. "Aw, Miley, you know there's no one else but you.
And I don't lay around in the sack all day, either. Just because
she's wealthy doesn't mean I'm allowed to be a lazy bum. I've
got all sorts of things I have to do."

She sat up and began to dress, starting with her bra. His face
looked pained as he watched her breasts disappear into the cups
of the lacy garment. Then, she pulled her panties up, after which
she rolled the legs of her pantyhose up her legs, standing up to finish
the job. His eyes were filled with fascination as he lay there
watching this reverse striptease. She stepped into her skirt, then
put her arms through the armholes of her sleeveless blouse, buttoning
it up and tucking it into the waistband of her skirt. Then she reached
into her purse to retrieve her hairbrush, dragging it purposefully
through the rich, thick waves of her light brown hair.

At last she turned to him, and reaching across to where he lay, gave
his penis a little pinch. "You know I love you, Phil. I wish you weren't
married to Ms. Warbucks, the millionairess. I wish you were married to
me. But I know you won't leave her, not as long as she's willing to
keep you in a manner you've grown accustomed to."

He smiled a rueful smile. "I guess so. It certainly is nice to drive
a Jag instead of a Yugo. But, lately, I've been getting really
frustrated. I want to see more of you, spend more time with you.
I don't know. Maybe I should ask for a divorce."

"Don't bother," she said. "Believe it or not, you're better off with
this arrangement."

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Because I know you love that money a hell of a lot more than you
love me." She placed her knee on the bed, bent over and kissed him
softly on the mouth. Before he could put his arms around her, she
stood up and backed away from the bed, then smiled and said, "Toodle-oo,
lover," and quickly left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Philip lay there in the bed for a long while, savoring the still
present smell of their climax, smiling a little, then stretching his
arms, his legs, even his dick, and growling a tigerish growl. Then,
he climbed out of the bed, and went into the bathroom for a shower.

Victoria Broadburn leaned across the top of her huge dark maple
desk. She picked up the envelope the man had placed on the otherwise
clean surface. She fixed her eyes on his, a small, tight smile playing
at the edge of her thin mouth.

Feigning casualness, she slowly ran her long, sharp fingernail under
the flap, opening it carefully, and, without looking down, pulling the
contents out. She glanced at the photos, pretending not to be concerned
about what they revealed, but unable to hide entirely the hurt in her
eyes. She looked back at the man and said, "You got good ones this
time? Do they show everything?"

He smiled broadly, pleased with himself. "See for yourself, Ms.
Broadburn. These babies are so clear you can see the sweat beads
on their foreheads."

Her mouth tightened, and she furrowed her brow. She was pleased with
the quality of the man's work, but not with what that work entailed.
"I see," she said. She took a long look at the photo on top. It showed
her husband's head, his mouth glued to the nipple of a woman's breast.
She leaned back in her plush leather chair, made a tent of her joined
fingers, and stared intently at the pile of photographs which now
lay spread on the desk. "What do you think, Mr. Peterson? About this
bitch?"

The man formed a half-smile with his lips, his eyes also focused
on the photos, so he wouldn't have to look into hers. "I gotta tell ya,
Ms. Broadburn, I'd watch out for this one. She's hot. And he's hot
for her. The others, well, they were afternoon delights. But, this one.
Mmmph. This one's different."

A silence descended on the room as the two people sat across the
desk from one another, studiously avoiding each other's gaze. Finally,
Victoria broke the quiet: "All right, Mr. Peterson, you've done very
good work on this case, and I appreciate the quality of your effort.
Your check will contain a substantial bonus as an indication of just
how much I do appreciate all that you've done. As you can imagine,
it is quite embarrassing for me to have to see photos such as these,
to know what my husband has been doing behind my back, to know that
you know as well."

He shrugged his shoulders, an effort to dismiss her concern in as
casual a way as possible. He wanted her to know he was not letting
any of this embarrassing information go beyond this room. Discretion
was a hallmark of his profession, and he was as tight-lipped as the
best private investigator.

She made her hands into small fists, and looked at the wall beyond
Peterson. Her voice was almost a whisper. "I hate the humiliation he
subjects me to. I don't understand any of it."

Peterson shrugged again. "Some guys just can't sit still, Ms.
Broadburn," he said. "They got itchy powder on their dicks, if you'll
pardon my saying so."

She snorted. "Itching powder, indeed." She stood up and extended
her right hand. "Well, Mr. Peterson, again, thanks for your effort.
You've been reliable and honest all along. If you think this latest
flame bears watching, perhaps you should continue your surveillance
for a while longer."

"Sure thing, Ms. Broadburn," he replied. "Be happy to."

Victoria thought to herself, "Who wouldn't, when you get to see
a show like these two put on?" She said nothing, but only smiled
as the detective prepared to leave.

He took her hand in his, then turned, retrieved his hat from her
coat rack, and left the room. Victoria watched him as he quietly closed
the door. Then, she walked out from behind her desk and began pacing
her office, her brow knitted in deep thought.

When Philip Johnson returned to the swank townhome he and his wife
Victoria shared, he noticed a sheet of paper on the small table that
was placed just inside the front door for the newspaper, mail and
other packages. The sheet was a brief note from Victoria: "Philip.
Come at once to my office. Victoria"

"Jesus, what a cold bitch she is," he mumbled to himself. "No
'Dear Phil,' no indeed. 'Philip.' No 'Love, Victoria.' Just 'Victoria.'
What the fuck. And after that wonderful session with Miley. Ah, dear,
sweet, hothothot Miley."

He turned around, left the apartment, and hailed a cab which had
fortuitously rounded the corner. Soon, he was headed into the center
city, to the financial district where his wife's investment firm was
located. Within a few minutes, the cab pulled over to the curb and
deposited him in front of the towering, mirrored-glass fronted building.
He looked up to the vicinity where his wife's firm was located.
"Shit," he muttered, "the fucking building's as cold as she is. They
sure were meant for each other." Reluctantly, he crossed the sidewalk
and entered the building, acknowledging the security guard's greeting
as he pushed through the door.

He entered the firm's office, through a glass door which opened
into a large reception area decorated with a couple of sofas and
straight-backed chairs, and the receptionist's desk. The receptionist
looked up from her typing, smiled brightly and said, "Hi, Mr. Johnson!
Let me tell Ms. Broadburn you've arrived. I know she's expecting you."
She leaned forward, pushed a button on the intercom, and announced
Philip's arrival. He was thinking, "What a bitch! Wouldn't even take
my name when we got married. Said it complicated her financial
arrangements. Goddamn. Good thing I have access to her checking account."

Her door opened and Victoria stepped through. She nearly bumped
into Philip as he was preparing to grab the knob. "Oh," she exclaimed,
a bit startled. "There you are. Come on in, Philip." She held the
door open for him to enter. "Have a seat, Philip," she said, gesturing
to the seat the private investigator had recently sat in. Philip crossed
the floor of the huge office, and took the seat Victoria had
indicated. Almost immediately, his eye fell on the photos, which were
still spread out on the desk top. He could feel the heat of his
embarrassment beginning to crawl up his neck. "Oh, shit," he thought.
"Here we go."

Victoria passed behind him and seated herself in her large, plush
leather chair. Even though it was difficult to do so - she'd much
rather have broken down and cried - she fixed her eyes on his. After
a long moment's silence, she said, "I'll come right to the point,
Philip. I want to know what you would like to have happen now."

He avoided her gaze, instead pretending to study the pictures.
Actually, he couldn't bear to look at them. Spread out before him
in all their full-color glory, they seemed obscene. How dare she
invade his privacy this way? Who the fuck did she think - ? But
she was speaking, "... to have happen now?" He wasn't sure he
understood her. "Have happen? What? I'm not sure... What is it
you want?"

She answered, "It's not at all what I want, Philip. Not at all.
It's what you want that concerns me. Do you want a divorce?"

His eyes briefly gazed into hers. She seemed perfectly calm.
"Cold," he thought, and shivered inwardly. "Divorce?" he asked.

She looked at him sitting there, his hands nervously playing with
the edge of a photograph. Emily was straddling him in this picture.
You could see his cock disappearing into her pussy. His balls looked
like pink apples. She was lost in a world of lust. His face was hidden
behind her torso and breast. Philip was beginning to feel a little sick
to his stomach.

"Yes, divorce," she replied. "I'm asking you if that is what you
would like to have happen here. Certainly those photographs supply
ample reason for discussing divorce." She hesitated a moment, then
continued, "If that's what you want."

He looked down at his hands which were now resting in his lap.
"Umm, no, I don't want a divorce."

She was relentless. "Then, what do you want? I repeat: what would
you like to have happen now?"

Small beads of perspiration appeared on his brow. He could feel a
slight trickle of sweat slowly dripping down his spine. "I, umm, I
don't know," he murmured.

"Let me tell you this, Philip. If you want a divorce, you may have
one. But I can assure you that you will not profit from it. I have
already made the necessary arrangements to protect what is mine. In
fact, I have made all the arrangements to strip you of virtually
everything you think you own. Including the clothes you are currently
wearing. If you decide to seek a divorce, you better have a damn good
job waiting for you. Otherwise, you're going to be sleeping in the
park from now on."

He blanched at the fury of her words. He knew she was tough; and
he knew she would protect herself as much as possible. He hadn't
realized, however, how viciously she would attack him.

The silence between them grew. Finally, she broke it: "I'm not
asking you for a divorce, Philip. I want you to understand that. I
don't think it's necessary, really. But, if we decide to stay together,
I can assure you there are going to be some major changes in our
relationship. Now, I'll ask you again: what would you like to have
happen now?"

He knew he was too weak to fight. Financially, he didn't have a leg
to stand on. Legally, she was holding all the cards. If he accepted
the idea of a divorce, and asked for one, she would punish him severely.
He was too lazy to simply leave and go somewhere else to start over
again. He knew if he stayed, she would continue to take care of him,
to "keep" him. But he suspected he would pay a heavy price no matter
what he decided to do.

She sat in the plush leather executive chair, hands folded across
her stomach, patiently gazing at him, waiting for him to respond.
He continued to fidget uneasily with his hands, his eyes desperately
avoiding hers. There had been a time when he couldn't take his
eyes off her. She was extremely beautiful, and the fact that her
wealth could purchase the very best in health and beauty care allowed
her to maintain that aura. She was short, about 5 feet 4 inches tall,
and slender, with a perfect curve outward from waist to hips. Her
bottom was rounded just enough without being too prominent. And,
despite her shortness, her legs appeared long and perfectly tapered,
probably because of her slender frame. But it was her breasts that
were her greatest asset. They were perfection itself. They were large
without being overwhelming, firm and yet supple, and they attracted
the immediate attention of both men and women. She was well aware of
their attractiveness, and she dressed to accentuate them without
overemphasizing them. When they had first begun to date, Philip could
hardly take his eyes off them; he fantasized his hands kneading them
as though they were soft mounds of bread dough. He dreamed of those
gorgeous breasts.

Now, he could hardly lift his eyes to look at her. He wasn't aware
of feeling ashamed, in particular. Perhaps it was fear of her power,
especially now, when she so obviously had the advantage. He knew
she was in the driver's seat, and there was little he could do about
it. Maybe it was shame he was feeling; shame that she had defeated him.
Definitely not shame that he had made love to Emily Owens, his Miley,
his mistress. His mind wandered to thoughts of her, even as his wife
sat across the desk from him, her eyes fixed on him, waiting for his
decision.

Finally, he could no longer delay the inevitable. "Well, Vic," he
began, but quickly noticed her glowering at him, in no mood for little
tendernesses here. "I mean, Victoria. Sorry. Ok, here's the way I
see it. I definitely don't want a divorce. So I guess that means I
do want to stay married to you. And, I know I've hurt you, and I'd
like to do whatever I can to mend that hurt."

"Mend the hurt, hmmm?" she said. "What about loyalty? What about
fidelity? How can I trust you, knowing what I know about you and
your - how shall I put it - extracurricular activities? If I can't
trust you, how can any of my hurt be mended?"

He replied, "Well, it's true, of course, that my track record isn't
very good." He ignored her snort. "But I promise you, beyond a shadow
of a doubt, I'll change all that. No more, umm, extracurricular
activities. I mean that sincerely." Miley's face appeared before him,
her eyes dancing, her lips inviting. He shook his head, trying to
erase her image.

"So you really do want to remain with me." Her eyes were locked on
him, once again cold, unfeeling.

He looked at the floor. "Yes. Whatever it takes, Victoria. I'll do
whatever it takes."

The fog of silence settled between them once again. If there had been
an old-fashioned grandfather clock in the room, it would have sounded
louder than usual, annoyingly loud. As it was, the only sound was the
quiet whisper of the air-conditioner pushing cool air through the registers
in the floor.

Finally, Victoria reached forward and opened the center drawer of her
desk. She pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I'm going to insure your loyalty
this time, Philip. And your fidelity. I have several documents I want
you to sign. Later, at my convenience, I'll have them witnessed and then
my attorney will execute them. I know that's unconventional. But I don't
want anyone here seeing us together like this. You would agree with my
position on this, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course. I trust you to do the right thing, Victoria."

She pushed the small pile of papers over to him, along with a pen
which she had also taken from the desk drawer. "Very well. The document
on top is a quit-claim. It states that you relinquish all claims to
my estate, to my property and to my finances."

He signed. The next document transferred ownership of his Jaguar to
Victoria. He signed. Another document provided his agreement to accept
an allowance from a trust Victoria had established, but it was subject
to her approval. Each week she would verify his good behavior. Her
verification would permit the bank to place his allowance in a checking
account. If she refused to sign the verification form, no money would
be transferred to the account. In fact, the account would be frozen.
He signed.

Finally, it was done. He was broken. He now depended on Victoria for
his very existence. He wondered if Emily would continue to see him.
He sat in his chair waiting for Victoria to make her next move, whatever
it was. After several minutes, she said in a near-whisper, "Stand up."
He stood. "Remove your clothes."

"What?"

"You heard me. Remove your clothes." She glared at him. "Strip."

"But, why? What is that going to prove?"

Her answer was to reach again into the center drawer, this time removing
a lighter. She took the pile of paper in one hand, and prepared to set it
on fire. "If these documents burn, Philip, you'll have no choice but to
accept a divorce. Do you understand? No choice."

Grimly, he began to undo his belt. "All right, all right. You win."

Reluctantly, he removed his clothes, finally standing in front of his
chair completely naked. Victoria reached forward and pressed the intercom
switch. "Judith, I want you to come in here, please," she said into the
microphone. The receptionist replied, "Yes, ma'am. Right away."

Philip was aghast. "Wh- what's going on?"

Victoria glared at him again. "Silence. You'll speak when I want to
hear you."

The door opened, and the receptionist entered the room. She glanced at
Philip, and a small smile formed on her lips. Victoria said, "Judith,
I want you to take his undergarments and dispose of them, as we had
discussed. Then come back and bring your equipment."

The receptionist said, "Yes, ma'am," and began picking up Philip's
socks, drawers and t-shirt. She quickly left the office. Philip's
mouth started to open, but was stopped by Victoria's abruptly raised
hand. "I said, 'Silence.' I meant silence."

A moment later the door opened and Judith re-entered the room. She
was carrying a small case in one hand. She walked over to Victoria's
desk. Victoria turned to Philip who was standing red-faced and naked
in front of the young woman.

Victoria said, "Now, Philip, I don't think it's possible to trust
you to be faithful to me or to your marriage vows. You've violated that
trust so often and so regularly that I don't think you're capable of
behaving in a trustworthy way. So I've devised a little plan that I
hope will shame you into behaving yourself. Remember, your allowance
depends on my acceptance of your good behavior. Right?"

He was looking down, trying to avoid the receptionist's open stare.
He mumbled, "Yes. I guess so."

Victoria smiled slightly. "Very well. Here is what I propose. Judith
is going to give you a pedicure, after which she is going to paint
your toenails with a delightful red polish. I am assuming you would
never want one of your chippies to see you with painted toenails. So,
you'll keep your pants on to avoid such an eventuality. Of course, if
your pants are on, your dick most likely will be tucked away as well.
It's at least worth a try. Nothing else seems to have worked."

The receptionist giggled, clearly enjoying the scene. Victoria
gestured at the chair Philip had been sitting in. "Sit down, Philip.
And don't give Judith a hard time about this, either." She turned
to her receptionist. "I'm going out for coffee. Let me know when you're
done with him."

The receptionist, still giggling, said, "Yes, ma'am."

"And do a good job on him. I want those toenails looking absolutely
gorgeous."

The receptionist couldn't contain her laughter. "Oh, I'll do a good
job, Ms. Broadburn. You can rely on me."

And with that, she knelt down in front of Philip, opened her cosmetic
case, and went to work. With a smirk on her face, Victoria turned and
walked out the door.

Half an hour later, the receptionist opened the door of Victoria's
office. Victoria was sitting on one of the sofas, reading a magazine
and sipping a cup of coffee. "I'm all done, Ms. Broadburn."

The two women entered the office together. Philip was seated in his
chair, still naked, looking deeply embarrassed. Victoria crossed the
office and stood before him. "Let's see those toes, Philip," she
commanded. He lifted both feet so she could get a close look. Victoria
clapped her hands together. "Oh, look what Judith's done," she said.
"This is marvelous. What kind of flowers are those, Judith?"

"They're supposed to be carnations, Ms. Broadburn," Judith said.

On both of Philip's big toes, in addition to the bright red nail
polish, the receptionist had painted bright white carnations. Philip's
face turned a shade darker than the deep red polish that now decorated
his toenails.

Victoria's face wore a thoughtful expression. "Hmm. You know, Judith,
if he puts his socks back on over his toes, it might cause those
wonderful flowers to smear and ruin the effect. Don't you agree?"

Judith said, "Oh, yes, ma'am. Those socks Mr. Johnson was wearing
could definitely cause the polish to smear."

Victoria sighed. "I was afraid of that. Well, I guess we have no
alternative, Judith. Go and get me the razor and the rest of the things
I gave you this morning."

Philip was alarmed. "Razor?" he thought, suddenly afraid. "What the
fuck does she need with a razor?"

When the receptionist returned, she was carrying an electric razor
in one hand. In her other hand she had a small plastic bag with the
logo of a lingerie shop printed on it. Philip's eyes showed his concern.
Victoria said, "Philip, I was afraid that Judith's handiwork would be
too delicate for you. I know the quality of her artistic efforts.
So, I'm afraid we're going to have to cover your toes with the same kind
of material a woman would wear whose toenails were similarly decorated,
that is, with sheer nylon. However, nylon stockings would look just
awful on those shaggy, hairy legs of yours. So we're going to have
to remove the hair. I'm sure you don't mind, do you?"

Philip was almost crying in frustration. He waved his hand dismissively.
"No, of course not. Don't want to ruin the carnations, after all."

Victoria glared at him. "Well, you don't have to be so sarcastic, Philip.
Judith worked very hard on those nails of yours." She smiled sweetly at
her receptionist, then turned back to Philip. "Now, stand up so Judith
can shave your legs."

Red-faced with shame, Philip stood up. The razor Judith held in her
hand was portable, so all she had to do was kneel down at Philip's feet,
turn it on, and go to work. Victoria stood behind her, leaning her
delicately rounded bottom against the desk, watching Judith work with
the razor. The hair on Philip's legs was, of course, fairly long, too
long for an electric razor to shave neatly. Several times he cried out
when the razor became snagged in his hair. But, eventually, after several
repeated efforts by Judith, his legs were at last free of all their
hair and as white as a porcelain bowl. At Victoria's instructions, Judith
had also shaved off Philip's pubic hair as well, causing him even more
embarrassment than he already felt.

Victoria clapped her hands. "Oh, lovely, Judith. You've done a wonderful
job. Now, Philip, sit down so we can show you how to put on these nylons."

She reached into the plastic bag, and pulled out a pair of very sheer,
black nylon stockings, the kind with seams. She handed them to her husband.

"It's very important that you put them on as carefully as you can,
Philip. You want to avoid runs at all cost. And, you want your seams to
be perfectly straight, especially on those days when I inspect you in
order to verify your continuing good behavior."

He looked at the dainty handful of nylon. He had no idea how he had so
quickly been reduced to this situation. Judith took one of the stockings
from him, and showed him how it was to be folded so that he could slide
it up his leg after carefully covering his foot. She also instructed
him on keeping the seams straight as the stockings were gently pulled up
his leg. When the first stocking was in place, she handed him the other
one. He was expected to do this one on his own. His hands shaking somewhat,
he finally managed to pull the stocking up his leg, keeping the seam
relatively straight. Judith showed him how to adjust it. When he was done,
Victoria had him stand up. Immediately, the stockings began to slide back
down his legs.

"Obviously, you need something to hold your stockings in place,"
Victoria declared. She reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a
black garter belt covered with red lace. She handed it to Philip. "Go
ahead, put it on. Judith will show you how to attach the garters to your
stockings."

Visibly upset, but unable to counter this humiliation, Philip started
to put the belt on. He placed the hooks in front and attached them to
the eyes. Then, he began to reach for a garter strap.

"No, no, no, silly!" exclaimed Victoria. "Once you've got it all
snapped on, you have to slide it around your waist so the hooks are
in the rear. Silly boy."

Judith giggled as the red-faced Philip complied.

"All right," said Victoria. "Now, you can attach the garters."

Clumsily, Philip began to work on this task, finally figuring out
how to operate the snaps after Judith demonstrated the method a couple
of times. Finally, fully ashamed and humiliated, Philip stood before
his wife and her receptionist, his brightly polished toenails visible
through the sheer material of his stockings, which were attached to
the only other garment he wore, a garter belt.

Victoria's demeanor grew stern. "This is how you will dress each
day, Philip. And once a week, you will report to Judith for a pedicure.
You will wear no other undergarments, unless, of course, I permit
them. If you desire to wear panties, or a bra, or a camisole, or any
dainty feminine lingerie, why I'll be more than happy to approve
such apparel. But that's optional, for now. However, your stockings
and garter belt are not. Those you will wear every day, all day. Do
you understand?"

Philip stared at his legs and his freshly painted toes. "Yes,"
he mumbled.

"Good," said Victoria. "Then you may get dressed." She turned to
Judith. "Thanks so much, Judith. You do a wonderful pedicure. You
may go to lunch now, if you'd like." The receptionist smiled at
Victoria, gathered up her things, and left the office, but not before
giving Philip the once-over with her laughing eyes.

Victoria turned to Philip, who had finished dressing and was adjusting
his necktie. "You may go now, Philip. Remember, loyalty and fidelity."
She reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet. She removed two bills
from it and handed them to Philip. "Here's your first week's allowance,
two hundred dollars. You'll get your allowance after your inspection,
on whatever day I choose, here at the office. All right?"

Philip nodded.

"Oh, one more thing before you go. I want the keys to the Jaguar."

"But, but, how am I going to be able to get around?" he cried.

"This city has a perfectly marvelous public transportation system,
Philip. You can take the bus. We'll see how your little sluts like
being romanced on the metro." She snickered at the thought of Philip,
encased in nylon stockings, attempting to impress one of his girlfriends
as they rode through the city on a bus.

She took the car keys from Philip's outstretched hands, then waved
him away in dismissal.

* * * * *

Philip had hailed a cab to ride back to his - Victoria's - townhome.
"Take the bus," he muttered. "Fuck her, fuckin' bitch." After paying
the driver, he turned to go up the steps of the large brownstone
rowhouse. It was a three-story structure, and much wider than the
usual townhouse and very deep. In the back, there was a small yard, most
of which Victoria had turned into flower beds for her garden, which even
Philip had to admit was spectacular. Beneath the front porch, behind the
concrete steps, was a set of short steps leading down to a basement
entrance. At one time, a previous owner had converted the part of the
basement which was directly under the kitchen into a servant's apartment.
The front walk-down entrance opened into a narrow hallway, which led to
this apartment. The apartment itself consisted of a small bedroom/sitting
room, a tiny kitchenette, and a cramped shower/sink/toilet room. In the
bedroom/sitting room was a door which led directly up to the kitchen
situated at the rear of the first level of the house proper. The kitchen
also had a door which led to the laundry room. The servants would wash
the family laundry in this room, then fold and iron it in either the
kitchenette or the bedroom/sitting room. When Victoria and Philip had
moved into the townhome, they had built an enclosure behind the kitchen
and had turned it into a laundry room. So, during the years they had
lived in this townhouse, they had never had any need to use the
basement apartment. In fact, all they used the basement for was storage
space, and the entrance to the storeroom was reached separately from
the servants' apartment.

As Philip reached the landing, he took his key from his pocket and
attempted to slide it into the lock on the front door. It wouldn't fit.
"What the fuck?" he muttered. "What's happened to the lock?" It was
then he saw the envelope sticking out from the letter-drop in the
door. He reached down and retrieved it.

"Dear Philip," it read. "Until you have proven to me beyond any
reasonable doubt that your loyalty and fidelity can be trusted, I
am requiring you to move into the servants' apartment in the basement.
I have had the locks to the front entrance changed. Moreover, I have
also locked the door leading from the kitchen to the basement apartment.
When I have need of you in my quarters, I will permit you entry through
that door. I have installed an intercom in your new apartment for the
purpose of summoning you whenever I deem it necessary.
"You will find bed and bath linens in the bureau in the bedroom.
Your clothes have been moved into the bedroom also. There is
food in the refrigerator, and cooking utensils, plates, etc.
"Part of my weekly 'allowance approval' inspection will be to
examine the neatness and cleanness of your apartment. Please keep that
in mind.
"Your housekey should work in the basement door lock.
Victoria"

He wadded the note up in his fist and slammed his fist into the
palm of his other hand. "That fucking bitch!" he exclaimed. "Son-of-a-
mother-fucking-bitch!"

Slowly, he calmed down and, realizing the inevitability of his
situation, he decided to take a look in the basement at the apartment
which he hadn't seen since he, Victoria, and the real estate agent
had looked at it during their pre-settlement inspection tour. As he
descended the stairs, his eye happened to glance out to the street.
Something was wrong, he knew, but he just couldn't - "My Jag! Oh,
shit! The bitch has taken my Jag! Oh, nooo..." There was definitely
an empty space at the curbside, and there was no Jaguar in sight.

Muttering darkly to himself, he tried the key in the lock. Sure
enough, it worked. The door easily opened. Inside, the hallway was
dark, and he felt around the wall until he found a light switch.
He turned it on, and a low wattage bulb barely illuminated the
hallway. He could see the door at the other end, so he walked the
length of the narrow corridor. Once again, he tried what had once
been the front-door key, and discovered that it fit the lock on
this door. He pulled the door open and again had to grope for a
light switch to find his way into the darkened room. He found that
the entrance gave way into a bedroom/sitting room. Inside the tiny
room was a narrow, cot-like metal frame bed with a thin mattress
and box-spring. On the mattress was a pillow. There was a chair in
one corner, and a five-drawer bureau in the other. On top of the
bureau was a small, inexpensive clock/alarm radio and his razor,
toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, deodorant and other cosmetics.

There was no closet. Next to the bureau, attached to the wall,
were some pegs with a few wire hangers suspended from them, which
would allow him to hang his clothes. There was a shelf attached to
the wall above the pegs. On it was an iron. Leaning against the
wall next to the pegs was an ironing board.

He went over to the bureau and opened the top drawer. In it
were several pairs of nylon stockings, all black, all sheer, all
with seams. There were also several garter belts in different colors,
but all with plenty of lace adorning them. In the next drawer he
found several nightgowns, all sheer, all baby-doll style, but with
no panties. The other three drawers contained bed linens, towels
and washcloths.

He went into the bathroom. There was toilet paper on top of the
toilet tank, and he realized the room was too small to accommodate
a toilet paper holder. Above the sink were two narrow shelves,
each attached separately to the wall. On these shelves were his
medicines - aspirin, bandaids, and other supplies. Above the top shelf
was a small mirror. Underneath the sink were cleaning supplies neatly
placed on the floor. In the cramped shower stall was a soap dish with
a bar of soap in it.

He next examined the kitchenette. It had a small range on top of
a small oven. There was no microwave oven, however. If he cooked,
he would have to cook in the old traditional way. Next to the oven/
range was a sink, and on the other side of the sink was a small
refrigerator. There was, of course, the narrow door leading up to
the kitchen above, and another narrow door which led to the laundry
room. That door had been removed so that the washer and dryer could
be clearly seen. There was a small table in the center of the room
with a chair neatly placed under it. Next to the opening into the
laundry room several shelves had been attached to the wall. On these
shelves were boxes of cereal, cans of soup, and other food. On the
bottom shelf was a pot and a frying pan. On the shelf above that
were a few plates, cups, and eating and cooking utensils.

Philip looked in the refrigerator. Inside were eggs, milk, some
ground beef, some fresh fruit and vegetables, cheese, and a small
freezer filled with ice cubes.

In the laundry room, beside the washer and dryer, were laundry
detergent, dryer anti-static tissues, dish detergent and other
cleaning supplies. Looking at the cleaning supplies, Philip suddenly
realized that the little apartment was immaculate. Obviously,
Victoria had gone to great trouble to prepare it for him. She'd been
planning this for a long time. His heart sank as he began to understand
that Victoria was going to be humiliating him far more severely than
he'd originally thought. "Damn," he said out loud. "Maybe I should
ask for a divorce. It can't possibly be any worse than this."

He went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. The mattress
definitely wasn't firm like the mattress on his bed upstairs. But
it wasn't uncomfortable, either. He began contemplating his situation.
It was pretty obvious that Victoria had some kind of plan that she
wasn't revealing to him. It was also pretty obvious that she intended
to punish him for his womanizing. He considered simply removing
the garter belt and stockings and leaving, going ahead with a divorce -
no matter how painful it might be for him - and then starting over,
perhaps even moving from the city and relocating somewhere else.
But a voice inside his head continued whispering, "Stick around. See
what she's up to. Maybe you can come out ahead, after all."

* * * * *

Evidently, he had dozed off. A loud buzzing had startled him awake,
and as he sat up, groggily wiping his eyes and shaking his head to
clear the sleep away, he realized it was the buzzer on his clock radio.
The clock read 80, and the P.M. light-dot was lit. "Damn," he said,
"that is one loud alarm. I'll have to set it for a morning wakeup.
Like around 100, maybe." He stood up, looking around a little confused,
then realized he was in the apartment in the basement of his townhome.
He decided he would go out to get a bite to eat, maybe at the pub up
on the corner, Harry's Grill. They had good burgers, and he could
have a couple of brews while he sorted out his thoughts and feelings
on what was going on with Victoria.

As he stepped toward the door, suddenly a static roar emerged from
the intercom. Then, Victoria's voice boomed out, "Philip, I wish to
speak with you right away. Please come to the door in the kitchen.
There's a doorbell switch there. Just push it and I'll unlock the
door from up here." Evidently, she had installed an electronic lock
on that door. "Probably so I won't 'invade' her 'kingdom,'" he thought.
But how the hell had she known he was in the apartment? And getting
ready to go out? "She's got a camera hidden somewhere around here,
the fucking bitch." He groaned.

He walked into the kitchenette, and stepped over to the door. He
found the doorbell switch, and pushed it. Immediately, he heard a
buzz, not unlike the buzzer on his clock radio alarm, and then the
sound of the door unlocking. He pulled it open and climbed the stairs.
There was another door at the top of the stairs, which was unlocked.
He opened it and entered the kitchen. Just as he closed the door,
Victoria's voice sounded over another intercom, this one attached to
the wall next to the door. Victoria's voice commanded, "Come into
the study, Philip. I'll meet you there."

Slowly, he made his way through the kitchen and into the main hallway.
His frustration was growing, threatening to turn into real anger. He
was afraid he might say something which could cost him whatever benefit
he might have in this situation. He entered the study. Victoria was
seated in a wingback chair, facing a fireplace. There was a fire burning,
the flames dancing merrily above the large logs. She looked up and
watched Philip as he crossed the room to her, then indicated that he was
to sit down in another wingback chair facing her, his back to the fire.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Victoria said, "Well,
Philip, I trust your new accommodations are satisfactory."

"Smug bitch," he thought. But, he said, "They're all right, I guess.
But, why are you making me stay down there?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Don't forget, Philip. You
violated our marriage vows. I'm not even sure I want to continue in
this marriage. But, I'm giving you a second chance. Another chance to
prove you really love me, and are willing to be a good and faithful
husband."

"So, why can't I live up here? With you? I mean if you're pissed off
at me, and don't want me sleeping with you for a while, well, ok, I can
understand that. And I'll be willing to sleep in another bedroom until
you do. You know. Want me to sleep with you again. When I have proved to
you that I am faithful and true, and you're happy to restore me into
your good graces."

Victoria contemplated him thoughtfully. "Well, Philip, I may decide
to do just that. But for the immediate moment, I prefer this arrangement."

Philip shrugged his shoulders. He was curious to see what other
conditions she was getting ready to impose on him, so he didn't feel like
arguing this point.

"Now, Philip, I like to think of these next few weeks as a sort of
trial period. Not just for you, but for me as well. So far, I've only
placed one condition upon you, that you report to my office every Friday
for a pedicure, and to have your toenails painted by Judith."

"What about this having to wear stockings and a garter belt? And no
other underwear?"

"Well, of course, that goes without saying. You have to protect your
toenail polish. But, it's all part of the same condition."

"Don't forget making me live downstairs in that little, whatever,
servants' quarters."

She smiled slightly and looked directly in his eyes. "Yes, Philip,
I guess that is a condition also. And, in fact, I am going to impose
one more condition as well. At least, for the time being. There may
be others, as time goes on."

"What is that?"

"Each morning, upon waking, you will place the clothes you wore the
previous day on hangers, and you will open the kitchen door, the one
leading to the stairs up to my kitchen, and you will place those
clothes on the peg nailed to the wall at the foot of the stairs. You'll
know what I'm talking about, because your clothes for the new day will
be hanging there already. So, it'll simply be a swap."

"That's it? That's all I have to do?"

"For now, yes. And, of course, you must show yourself to be a
faithful and loyal husband. I am hoping that the pedicure and the
stockings will remind you of that obligation. But, then, sooner or
later, and I hope sooner, you'll be a faithful and loyal husband simply
because you want to, and not because I've forced you to."

"Of course. Now, you said there may be further conditions imposed on
me as part of my, umm, probation, you might say?"

"It depends upon your progress, Philip. And whether your improvement
is genuine or not." She smiled at him. "So don't try to con me."

He looked at her, realizing that he wasn't sure he wanted this game
to continue. "Do I really love her?" he thought. "Enough to jump
through all these hoops?"

She continued to smile, and said, "You're probably wondering if it's
worth it to even try. I can't help you there, Philip. I will say this:
I had to move to protect myself and my wealth. So if you file for divorce,
there won't be any division of property, believe me. You will simply
lose what little you have left, which isn't much. But if you pass my
test, if I believe you really are in love with me, and really do wish
to be a good and faithful husband to me, then I can assure you I will
be exorbitantly generous in whatever I give you."

"Speaking of not having much left, what did you do with my Jaguar?"
he asked.

"I had it towed to a dealer and sold. The keys were yours, but the
title was mine."

"But, why?" Philip's frustration was threatening to get out of hand.

"You needed an object lesson, Philip. You needed to know that I'm
holding all the cards here."

His eyes were growing moist. He put his index finger in his mouth
and bit down on it. Hard. It was either that or start swearing at her.

"Now, don't forget. In the morning, you will find your outfit for
the day hanging by the kitchen door. And I want you to give me the
clothes you are now wearing, so I can have them cleaned. I want you
to be neat and presentable at all times. Speaking of which, from
time to time I will be inspecting your apartment, to be sure it is as
neat and clean as you found it today. Of course, I'm sure it will be."

"Yes, yes, of course," he replied, exasperated.

"Incidentally, don't forget to keep your legs shaved. It really will
help prevent runs in your stockings. Oh. One other thing. The nighties
were given to you for a reason. To enjoy. So enjoy them." She looked
him straight in the eye, and her mouth curled into a mocking grin.
"If you have no further questions, then, Philip, I'll say goodnight.
You may let yourself out the way you came in."

She stood up and walked out of the room, without looking back at
him. He sat there in stunned disbelief. Then, confused and shaken,
he stood up and began the long journey to his new home.

As he passed through the door at the head of the kitchen stairs,
it automatically locked behind him. Then, as he entered the apartment,
that door, too, swung shut automatically, and he heard the click of
the lock. "Damn," he thought. "That is some elaborate security system."
He looked around once again at the tiny rooms, then decided he wasn't
hungry, after all. "Might as well just take a shower and go to bed.
Get a good night's sleep," he thought. He entered the bedroom and
got some sheets and a pillowcase out of the bureau, and made up the
bed. Then, he pulled a towel and washcloth from another drawer.
He removed his clothes, being careful with the stockings. He wasn't
sure what Victoria might do if he damaged the filmy nylons.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower in the cramped
stall. "Damn!" he said out loud. "I don't even have room to bend over
to wash my feet!"

He managed to scrub himself off, however, and then toweled himself
dry. He had to carry the towel and washcloth back into the bedroom,
since there was nowhere in the tiny bathroom to hang them. He used one
of the pegs attached to the wall next to the bureau. He opened the
bureau drawer that contained the babydoll nighties and stood looking
at them, trying to decide whether to wear them, or just sleep naked.
He had decided to sleep in the raw, and was just closing the drawer
when the intercom came alive again. It was Victoria. "I told you,
Philip, that the nighties are for your pleasure. Go ahead and put
one on. I insist."

He looked around the room in wonder. "Motherfucker!" he exclaimed
under his breath. "The bitch does have a camera hidden in here!"

Victoria's voice broke the silence again. "Put a nighty on now,
Philip," she scolded. "Or else I'll think you don't love me anymore."
And she giggled.

"Shit," he muttered. "Bitch." But he reached in the drawer and
pulled one of the filmy nightgowns out, this one a transparent pink.
It had a silky feel to it, and it had lace edging around the deeply
scooped neckline and thin straps. He pulled it over his head and let
it drop over his body. The bottom hem of the gown, also trimmed in
lace, quit at just about his hips, leaving his hairless cock and
balls exposed.

"Cute," said Victoria's voice in the intercom. "Nighty-night,
Philip. Don't forget to put your dirty clothes on the stairs in the
morning."

Cursing and muttering darkly to himself, Philip finally crawled
into the narrow bed. He was so exhausted and shaken by his encounter
with Victoria, and the rest of the events of the day, he fell almost
immediately into a deep sleep. He had to admit that the feel of the
silky-softness of the nightgown was interesting. He'd felt such
material before, but then, of course from the outside in. Now he
was experiencing it from the inside out. He fell asleep then, and
dreamed the strangest, most vivid dream he could ever recall dreaming.
In the dream, his head was shaved completely bald, like Yul Brynner's,
and his body was wrapped in soft, transparent nylon. He was floating
in a pale-blue sky, it seemed, and just ahead of him was Victoria.
Only she seemed gigantic, and towered over him so that her face was
distant from him, hidden by her massive breasts. He floated closer
to her, so that his head came nearer and nearer to the triangular
patch of her pubic hair. Suddenly, she opened her legs and he could
feel this warm, comforting heat enveloping him like a luxurious cloak.
And he noticed an aroma that seemed to overwhelm him with desire.
He floated nearer and nearer to her open vagina, and suddenly his
head was lodged inside it. Gently, her huge hands held him at the
waist, and she pushed him further inside her opening. His head
entered her and was immediately surrounded by darkness as he moved
deep inside her vulva. It was dark; it was warm; it was moist.
As soon as he was lodged well inside her, she began to pull him back
out, until all but his face had slid back out of her pussy. He struggled
to crawl back in, and she obliged him, holding him still at the waist
and pushing him deep into her vagina once again. He had become like a
human dildo, and that is exactly how she used him. Back and forth he
floated, up and down her vaginal canal. Her breathing became heavier
and heavier, and from inside her womb, it sounded like the approach of
a thunderstorm. Her vaginal walls grew hotter and wetter, and he thought
of a tropical rainforest, hot, humid, sultry. Harder and harder she
pushed and pulled; deeper and deeper he sank into her interior; louder
and louder the roar of her breathing became, until he was completely
overwhelmed and powerless against the onslaught of this magnificent
female essence. Then everything became black and he lost all sense of
himself, indeed of any reality.

He awoke moaning, and could feel a sticky wetness on the sheets
near his pelvic region. He pulled the cover and top sheet back and
looked. He'd had a massive orgasm, evidently, because there was a
huge stain on the sheet and it was wet and cold. He shivered a little,
then sat up and placed his feet on the floor. He was still breathing
a bit hard, and he could feel his pulse racing. "Whew," he thought.
"That was one hell of a dream. I have never been through anything like
that."

He stripped the wet, cum-stained sheets from the bed and carried
them over to the laundry room, placing them on the washer lid. Then,
he went into the tiny bathroom to clean himself up. After his shower
and shave, he went over to the door in the kitchenette and pressed
the button on the jamb. Immediately he heard a buzz, followed by
the click of the lock and the door swinging slowly open. As he opened
the door, he looked at the wall next to the stairs. Sure enough, a
pair of slacks and a shirt were hanging there. He took them down,
replacing them with his soiled clothes from the day before.
He carried the clean clothes into the bedroom and hung them on one
of the pegs on the wall. It was then he noticed a piece of paper
pinned to the slacks. He took it off and unfolded it. It was a note
from Victoria:

"Dear Philip,

When you look in your underwear drawer you will notice that you
have nine identical pairs of stockings, one for each day of the week
plus a couple of spares in case you suffer a run. You should wear a
different pair each day, and wash them in the sink at night. You
also have seven garter belts, each of a different color. You should
wear a different one each day also, rotating through them in a
systematic fashion. These you can wash with your regular laundry.
Have fun!