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  • To the Manor Bound Ch. 04

To the Manor Bound Ch. 04

12

This probably won't make too much sense unless you've read the other chapters first. Like the other chapters this includes forced feminisation, BDSM, and non-con, so it might not be your cup of tea. Regardless, do comment and email me to let me know what you think, or just to say hello!

*****

Chapter 4 - Five Weeks After Transformation

Peter held the dustpan and brush at an arm's reach away from him - partly to avoid breathing in any of the fine grey ash that lined the fireplace, and partly to avoid risking any further punishment from Lord Madison for a dirty uniform. It was only when he was more than halfway through his clearing of the fireplace that he realised what it was he was sweeping up: his previous life. He was cleaning the room in which Lord Madison had originally transformed him into the sissy maid he now was: these ashes were the burnt remains of his male clothes, his wallet, and his old identity.

Peter bit his lip at the implications but he knew that he needed to keep cleaning if he was going to be done in time. He had spent most of the morning cleaning his Lordship's personal library on the second floor. He still deeply resented the extra tall heels Lord Madison would make him wear whenever he was dusting; claiming ostensibly that they were to help him reach some of the higher shelves but Peter knew well enough that the real reason was that his Lordship liked to ogle his legs as he waved about his feather duster.

Unfortunately, during his cleaning of the library, Peter had become overly distracted by the lurid and frankly pornographic nature of some of the books on display. Besides the standard works by De Sade and Masoch, which Peter had expected to be there, there were open copies of the kama-sutra and various other antique sex manuals lying on desks and lecterns. Not to mention shelf upon shelf filled with titles such as 'A Scientific Enquiry into the Understanding of the Effect of Tongue Piercings on Cunnilingus and Fellatio', 'Attractive and Practical Knots of the Far East for the Purpose of Human Bondage', and 'Les Oubliettes: a Very Personal Journey through the Dungeons of Southern France Dating from the Previous Century.'

The reading of these thoroughly indecent tomes had eaten into his time as he carefully fanned through the thick parchment pages, his cock leaking pre-cum constantly as he did so. When his mind finally cleared and he realised both how much time had passed Peter immediately noticed the puddle of sticky pre-cum dripping from his locked up cock that had pooled between his patent leather shoes. With only a feather duster to hand Peter knew that he had no choice but to bend down and lick it from the floor before he was caught - not that Lord Madison wasn't watching the entire procedure via closed circuit television and smiling broadly at his sissy's progression.

But now Peter was having to rush through his cleaning of the central sitting room, the last of the orders proscribed to him by his Lordship at the start of the day.

***

Lord Madison had informed him of his duties for the day whilst receiving his breakfast-in-bed that morning, lying naked in his four-poster as was his custom. Peter was required to stand by the bedside throughout, holding the tray containing his Lordship's first cup of earl grey tea, as his master idly flipped through the financial times.

His Lordship's broad, hairy chest bathed in the clear early morning sunshine and, with Peter having been taught to keep his gaze naturally lowered when in the presence of those superior to him, it was on his Lordship's chest and cock was where his gaze naturally fell.

When he finally finished reading the match report of the preceding day's test match, Lord Madison closed the paper and addressed his maid directly, "I shall be receiving a visitor this afternoon on a matter of a small business proposal and I shall require my library and the central sitting room to be in a presentable state, these are now your top priority Francine."

"Yes your Lordship." Peter curtseyed.

***

Having just finished clearing up from lunch Peter knew how little time he had left and he hastily moved on to dusting one of the portraits of Lord Madison's illustrious forebears - this particular painting was of the 14th Lord Madison, who had served as Home Secretary in the late 19th century and grown a reputation for employing a distinctly 'hands on' approach to his reform measures for penal correctitude.

Peter was eager to ensure that each of the rooms he had been assigned were as clean and orderly as possible that morning as Lord Madison receiving a visitor typically meant that Peter was going to spend the next few hours in some manner of bondage in one of the cellars - which, though shorn of most of the torture devices from the manor's time as a royalist stronghold during the civil war, Lord Madison was doing his best to re-stock - and Peter had learnt from the bitterest of experience that the quality of his housework would be directly linked to the severity of his bondage: a choice between a single fuzzy pink handcuff locked to a water pipe; or gagged, blindfolded, and secured with metal restraints at every joint to a St Andrew's cross was a choice not to be taken lightly.

Soon though the familiar clack of a well-heeled pair of size 13 Italian leather shoes echoed down the corridor and Peter rushed to the centre of the room and smoothed down his pinafore. His curtsey now came almost automatically to him, the smooth crossing of his legs and almost exaggeratedly feminine lifting of the hem now so practiced as to be akin to second nature to him. Though all of this was still not yet enough to stop his smile from turning into a scowl the moment his Lordship's back was turned.

"Good afternoon Francine."

"Good afternoon your Lordship," Peter curtseyed again.

"I must say that it's extremely pleasing to me that you are finally beginning to show some signs of the civility that I am trying to inculcate in you. I know full well that you're still going to pout as soon as my back is turned," Peter averted his eyes guiltily and Lord Madison smiled at having caught him in the lie, "but where form goes function shall follow. I know your mind isn't yet moulded as I wish it to be but it is simply a matter of time from here on out. As such, I think that the time has come for you to put some of your training in receiving guests to more practical use. After all, it's no use training a maid if one is simply going to have to lock her in one's dungeo-, excuse me, in one's cellar when she's most needed?

"As you should recall from this morning," His Lordship continued, "I am receiving a visitor to the manor on a matter of a potential business transaction and I need to impress upon him that the old ways of power, prestige, and nobility still continue. He's very much nouveau riche and that provincial sort tend to be even more enamoured with the trappings of aristocratic wealth than anybody from my old Islington set. So my domestic servant will need to be prominently on display."

Peter's eyes lit up at this news; this was his chance to break free, this was the hope that he had been holding onto. Immediately his mind started racing on the best strategy to take in informing the visitor of the true nature of his relationship with Lord Madison and asking for the police to be informed as soon as possible.

Lord Madison leaned against the mantelpiece and smiled with all the sympathy of a snake at his Maid, "Oh dear Francine, one of the myriad advantages for me of your having such a simple little sissy mind is the clarity with which I can comprehend your innermost thoughts - clearer in actuality than you yourself; I am very aware that your instinctive response will be to plan an escape or to fabricate some nonsensical tale of my keeping you here prisoner as a sex slave."

Peter pouted again, "But you are keeping me here against my will, you are turning me into some twisted sissy sex puppet, and you are a perverted lunatic." He stomped one of his heels onto the floor and crossed his arms beneath his breasts, seemingly unaware of quite how feminine his tantrum appeared.

"I do believe that we've covered this in more than plentiful detail Francine, I do wish you could collect your scattered sissy brain and remember something. Besides, how exactly were you planning on abandoning my service, eh Francine? How exactly were you planning on proving to my visitor that you were once a 'man'" His Lordship made quotations signs in the air with his fingers and stood upright again. "Are you in bondage right now? All I see is a silly little bimbo maid in a pretty dress with a very pretty collar. Are you a maid? You seem to know more than enough about serving a household by now. Are you a man? We both know you're too much a wimp to actually show him your little clitty, especially when it's so tightly locked away.

Lord Madison stepped forward in front of Peter and hooked a finger into one of the loops on his collar, continuing, "Whereas, I am an upstanding member of fashionably high-society, I am a member of the House of Lords in good standing, and I am undoubtedly a man. Even if you did summon what little manhood there is left inside you and pleaded with him, who do you think he would believe? And I don't think you have it in you to admit what you've let yourself be turned into; your balls might be swollen little maid but that doesn't mean they're big. Do you understand Francine?" Lord Madison pulled on Peter's collar, dragging him closer such that he was towering with all his height over his maid.

"Y-yes your L-l-lordship." Peter replied, his voice stuttering a little and his spirit cowed more quickly than he once would have thought to be possible.

Lord Madison smiled menacingly, pleased with the easy effect his dominance could take on the young maid practically shaking in his heels in front of him. He allowed a moment of tense silence to build between them before speaking again.

"Now that you've accepted your place Francine, I'm going to need you to move some more things into place. I want this room to be prepared for a meeting, starting with that table."

Lord Madison rattled off a list of instructions to Peter, deliberately so fast that he was scarcely able to remember one by the time the next one was announced leaving Peter standing with his mouth slightly ajar and a delightfully vacant look on his face by the time his Lordship was finished.

"Oh for goodness' sake Francine! The table. I asked you to start with the table." Lord Madison gestured with a dismissive wave of his hand at a lengthy oak table currently at the far end of the room, "Drag that up here so that it's parallel to the fireplace, and do be careful sissy, it's older than most houses I imagine you will have ever lived in."

Silently fuming at his Lordship's continued pompous denigration of his background Peter sashayed his way to the table and, taking it in both hands, pulled at it with all his strength. The only effect, however, was for him to slide on the tips of his heels across the floor he'd spent so long polishing and land firmly on his panty clad arse. The table remained unmoved.

Lord Madison's laughter echoed across the high ceiling of the ancient room and seemed to mock Peter from every direction. Pouting he shakily got back to his feet and tried again but to the exact same end: he was unable to move the heavy oak furniture an inch. Eventually Lord Madison ceased laughing for enough to make his way over to where Peter was sitting.

His Lordship picked Peter up as easily as though he were a rag doll and popped him on the edge of the table, his legs spread. Lord Madison stepped forward, pinning Peter against the table so closely that his face was almost touching that of his young maid. Gripping the edges tightly in his hands Lord Madison lifted and dragged both the table and his maid without so much of a grunt.

The noise of wood scraping across a polished floor was interrupted by the sounds of an expensive-looking, bright red, Italian sports car approaching up the driveway and pulling up next to Lord Madison's rather more reserved looking Bentley.

"Ah, I take it that Mr Tyler has arrived." Lord Madison clapped his hands together with glee.

Peter watched through the bay windows as the car-door opened, the suspension creaked, and a man he assumed to be Mr Tyler got out. He looked to be about 10 years older than Lord Madison, undoubtedly fatter and bald-headed apart from a little fine stubble covering his chin.

Taking his maid by his hand Lord Madison led the way out of the front door with Peter tottering after him as well as his high-heeled feet could manage.

In spite of the sunshine, Peter felt frozen the instant he left the dark confines of the manor house and found himself standing for the first time in front of a man other than his master whilst dressed as the perfect sissy maid. He had still been planning on screaming about the injustice of his situation but when his position was laid so clearly in front of him it was all he could do to blush demurely and lower his gaze. With each passing moment he could feel his opportunity for escape slipping past him.

"Ah, Mr Tyler, so glad you decided to pay a visit to my little country abode," Lord Madison extended a hand and the two men shook.

"Much obliged your Lordship. Thanks for inviting me out her, lovely part of the countryside. I'm sure we'll be able to get this matter straightened out in no time." His low, raspy voice was painted with a thick Yorkshire accent, and he stuck his thumbs in his wide leather belt as he spoke.

"Oh I've little doubt in the matter, and whilst you're my guest allow me to extend to you all of the privileges of the estate, beginning with having your automobile freshened up." The bright red paint of the low-slung convertible was spattered with puddle-mud from the winding country lanes that lead to the manor house and from the imposing driveway itself. "Francine here would be only too happy to ensure that your vehicle is in a fit state to be seen again by the time you are ready to take your leave, won't you Francine?"

Peter was all of a sudden put on the spot: he had gone from being a mute observer to being thrust into the spotlight and he felt the eyes of both men boring into him. Panicking he reacted in the way that he thought would cause the least trouble.

"Yes, Lord Madison." He barely managed to supress a wince at the ease with which he was able to affect a feminine air to his voice.

"Well only if you're sure she's nothing better to do your Lordship."

"I insist. My young maid here has recently been taking . . . instructions in servicing automobiles and I want to ensure that she's making sufficient progress in the course I have laid out for her. Francine you'll find something an outfit more appropriately suited to the task arranged in your quarters. Hurry along now girl."

After giving a final curtsey Peter sashayed off, remembering to wiggle his arse as he walked but still flustered at how readily Mr Tyler was willing to accept both that Lord Madison would keep a maid in this day and age, and at how readily he was willing to accept that Peter was that maid.

Peter opened the door to his bedchamber and initially couldn't see any new outfit: the room was exactly as he had left it that morning other than a yellow dusting rag that had been placed on his pillow. It wasn't until he got closer that he realised the tiny scrap of yellow fabric that he had initially assumed was a duster was in fact a two part micro-bikini, the skimpiest that Peter had ever seen. Peter picked them up in a state of almost disbelief and held them against his body.

A brief note was pinned to the thong in Lord Madison's distinctive cursive handwriting.

'Good job your "cock" is so small or you'd never fit in these!

Now hurry up and don't keep my guest waiting."

Even whilst simultaneously blushing and fuming at the insult Peter felt the movement of the lace French-cut panties he was currently wearing gently rub against one of the holes in his belt and he blushed harder knowing that the slur about the size of his cock was true.

Knowing by now that an order not to keep him waiting was an order not to be trifled with, Peter hurriedly unzipped his dress and allowed the layers of lace to fall in a crumpled pile around his ankles. He carefully rolled down his sheer stockings - a ladder would mean an automatic caning that evening - and placed them on his bed where they were shortly followed by his panties and bra.

Finally he unlaced the stiff, boned corset that his Lordship was now really only making him wear for the aesthetic and control value; his body was already becoming moulded closer and closer to that of the perfect hourglass figure. And indeed when Peter stood for a moment in front of his full length mirror naked - or as naked as he could be with his immovable chastity belt and collar - the sight was almost unbelievable.

This though only heightened his sense of shame as he teetered out of the front door on his stiletto heels, his huge breasts threatening to break free from the flimsy little bit of cloth holding them in place.

"Oh my-" Peter felt Mr Tyler's eyes running up and down his body and with so much on display he felt flustered about where he could place his hands that would leave him any small semblance of dignity.

"You look splendid Francine, but you're not just here for your looks girl, get on with it."

Peter curtseyed again for his Master, miming lifting the non-existent hem of where his skirt would have fallen.

"Now Mr Tyler, why don't you take a seat inside your car for a better view of the proceedings whilst I go back inside to make a few final arrangements for later on? Let Francine work out here in the sun, he added under his breath, but in a deliberate stage whisper such that Peter could not help but overhear, "And I can't help but think that some tan lines on that slender little body would be most becoming." To which Mr Tyler heartily laughed and agreed.

The afternoon sun was indeed fiercely burning onto Peter's bare skin and he was thankful for the splashing of the hose and the fine spray of suds that soaked him as he began working on the car.

As he bent over at the waist - as he had been taught to do - to polish the gilded badge on the bonnet of the Lamborghini, and he felt the g-string of the bikini ride between his tight hairless arse-cheeks Peter felt a pang of humiliation flush across his face stronger than he had felt for some time as he began to accept that he had gone from a young socially-conscious protestor to a servile submissive cleaning the expensive status-symbol cars of a capitalist and an aristocrat.

Peter leant over the side of the car to clean the centre of the windscreen, only realising too late that he was inadvertently pressing his enormous breasts against the flat glass. The thin fabric that was barely covering his nipples was soaked through and they were clearly poking through. What was worse though was when he cleared the last of the bubbles away and saw the lecherous grin on the face of Mr Tyler and pictured the designs clearly passing through his head.

It was only as he applied the final layer of wax that he noticed that Mr Tyler's hands had slipped from their position on the steering wheel down towards his lap some time ago.

For the first time in his visit he was grateful for Lord Madison's return. Keeping one hand on Peter's plump arse cheek and one eye in the reflection of his new breasts in the highly polished metal, Lord Madison leant in to speak to Mr Tyler, "If you'd be so good as to join me in the central sitting room I believe we're ready to begin proceedings." Then, turning back to Peter he spoke in another stage whisper, this time for the benefit of Mr Tyler, "Go and get changed Francine, and this time do try to wear something more fitting for the situation rather than flouncing about like a common tart in front of my guest."

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