'Submitting to Miss Jade', Segment Two

Justine Powell

“I feel... I’m...”

“Conspicuous?” I suggest.

Extricating my toy from the famed Institute, I’m taking him home. To establish my authority I have him sitting in the front seat of my SUV, naked with hands resting on top of his bald head, Posey cuffs unclipped. The pose nicely projects his/her breasts, enhanced to the size of small melons by way of drugs and hormones. And in the relative cool of October, the nipples stand firmly and point to the windshield.

“The exposure is good for you, Michael. And in being cooped up in the Institute for so long, it must be nice to see the light of day.”

I ponder whether I should tell him/her that the deep tinting of the glass makes her nudity almost completely unnoticeable to onlookers. Instead I decide to let her wallow in the demented thrill of exhibiting all.

“No clothing, Miss Justine?” the quest so timid.

I pause. I could have brought along something of husband Jim’s to cover him, but quickly cast the thought aside.

“Never,” my voice pleasant but firm. “You’ve by now acclimated to complete nudity at all times, Michael. Why reverse the regimen? But you’ll not be in bondage. As my maid you’ll have the run of the house,” the words coming with enthusiasm.

She’s more glum than I thought she’d be. Stopping at a traffic light I reach to the length of pink silk curled on her lap... my makeshift leash... and playfully tug. It remains tied to his penis shaft, and in being partially adhered to his perineum, my pull awakens the entire male... former male... package. This brings to her a smile and what seems like a girlish giggle.  

“Why so down Michael? You seemed happy leaving the Institute?”

“I thought I’d see my family.”

 “You mean your wife and another man’s children? That’s not to be... not without permission.”

Oddly ingrained into the warped psyche of this subordinate male is the need to please... by way of caring and nurturing... even licking the penis of his/her former Master. This will be addressed and assuaged, but in a manner which does not expose toddlers to his bizarre appearance... hairless, feminized and with a penis rendered useless... the reason his Master had him institutionalized. Also to be addressed is his acquired affinity for the adoration of the alpha male. Having read his voluminous file, dossiers contributed by all... wife, his Master Edward, the many medical types, his superior, the housekeeper Modena... there is not much I and others at the Institute could not learn about the long term patient Michael Devereau given the time to review.

His depravity is an open book. I will nourish and cultivate it.

Out of the city, into the suburbs to the macmansion purchased three years ago when my husband, professional football player Jim Powell was traded to the local team. We thought it would be home for many years. Alas, months ago he was again traded... to Chicago where he rents a modest apartment. Barring a run in the playoffs, he’ll return at season’s end.

So for the next few months it will be me, daughter Jade, and my new maid Michael Devereau.

He’s served in such a capacity before, doting over his wife, caring for her newborns, and learning to obey and adore as Master his/her wife’s alpha male lover... for whom his wife has consistently gestated. His was a natural and acceptable role, more or less programmed into his hard drive. We shall see if such can be modified, made useful in my home.

“You’ll be cooking... cleaning... doing laundry... most importantly caring for daughter Jade,” my words intended to hearten. “She’s her father’s princess. And for good girls... no bondage.” 

This somewhat cheers. But then I recall clinical notes added to his/her file... how much tight bondage comes to bring comfort to the subordinate male. It seems that being deprived of free will also diminishes the perceived burdens of responsibility. That to be rendered thoroughly immobile brings the sense of helplessness, vulnerability and degradation that is strangely relished.     

“Unless you feel better with a woman binding you,” dangling what may be a tidbit of mental snack food.

I cannot help thinking if such would be beneficial to Jade’s upbringing, learning of the demented thrills of the masochist... and how a woman of my ilk comes to enjoy such.

I turn onto our local street then into the driveway. It’s semi secluded, plus in being mid afternoon on a workday there are few potential onlookers. There is a retired woman across the street, however. So if I provide some phone gossip, so be it. Maid Michael Devereau is not to feel covering.

Stopping the SUV, she looks apprehensive.

“Hands,” briefly commanding as I reach to release her seat belt.

The Posey cuffs lower, arms drawn behind the back. I clip together, exit the car and go to the passenger door. I open and grab the symbolic pink silk leash.
“Come Michael, you’re home,” pulling with a smile in seeing the male package flop about in response.

“Please Miss Justine, It’s cold.”

“Then hurry.” 

It’s sunny yet indeed a cool day... not a cold one. But since Michael has not a stitch, he’ll feel the slightest breeze. So very obediently she follows her leashed male anatomy along the driveway to the side door.

“Perhaps a walk about the neighborhood first, Michael? It would be exciting for you,” more snack food.

I must chuckle in turning back, seeing his hairless form transform to a mass of goose bumps, knowing that it is more than the cold which brings her flesh to so awkwardly respond. I’d like to let her wallow in the humiliation until sundown, but there are in fact potential spying neighbors and for sure a car will at some point wander down the quiet suburban street.

Still message sent... and well received... that I am empowered to bring emotional suffering just by pausing my stride and lowering my hand to leave her bald, hairless and well endowed chest on exhibition for any passing eyes. Mercifully, I open the side door and pull inward. Her sense of relief is palpable.   

“You will rarely leave here, Michael. As much as this is a home to me, it will be in your mind more of a prison. A mental and emotional prison. Though you’ll be free to wander the house and do your chores, in not wearing clothing you’ll not step out the door without strict supervision. My husband’s garb is under lock and key... and in being six foot six and near 300 pounds too large for you should you somehow come across any. And even my clothing won’t fit. So best acclimate yourself to constant exposure.”

As I speak, I twirl my finger for her to turn, unclipping the Posey cuffs.

“Take off the cuffs and untie your leash. Leave the restraints to hang somewhere in the kitchen near the back door where it will remind of being under control. And if you want to be walked sometime... outdoors... you will put the cuffs on and bring your leash... to either me or my daughter Jade. You’ll find that she tends to rule here.”

Mentioning her name brings a notable shudder and look of concern.

“Yes, you will be obedient to her as well. I’m going to teach her... feminine empowerment. It’s best at her age. To learn that a subservient tongue and a well fitted double dildo can bring not only physical gratification but a satiating sense of feminine power as well.”

“How old, Miss Justine?” Michael verbalizing her concern.

“Out of high school, not yet in college. She’s in athletic training for a year... as a gymnast. Has hope for the Olympics. We’re very proud of her. Though his stepdaughter, Jim dotes over her.”

She looks at me quizzically.

“I had Jade young. By my first husband. He was not tall like Jim. So she’s... let’s say more compact. But muscled... her size-strength ratio perfected over many years in the weight room... many hours of training and exercise.”

I note that Michael begins to fidget. That brings the realization that there are bathroom needs. I smile inwardly... another opportunity to validate my authority.

“You need to go potty. I’ve read of the procedure in your file. You’ll find a pan under the kitchen sink. It will be designated for you. When in need, place it on the kitchen floor then lie on your back and wait for permission to empty yourself. You know the routine from there.”
    
The look becomes aghast. I just stand arms akimbo, knowing that bladder needs will eventually overcome any silly shyness.

Finally, standing facing me in silence, my maid Michael goes to the cabinet under the sink.

Such cruelty... but so well received.