EXTRACT FOR
Prissy Polly Pansy
(Miranda Birch)

"Frock up, panties down, girl!" 



Some girl! The great strapping man, a look of utter misery on his painted face, obediently bent, lifted the hem of his frock to his waist and bunched it there, then lowered his frilly pink panties. 



Miranda Roberts brought the cane down hard across her sissified husband's bare bottom. 



THWACK! 



"You wanted this, you got it!" 



"Oh, oh,... please, please Miranda.. stop, stop! It hurts, and... and it is so humiliating!" 



THWACK! 



"You are humiliated?" 



THWACK! 



"How do you think I felt, when I found those disgusting magazines? I have never been so humiliated in my life!" 



THWACK! "But you are going to learn all about humiliation, sissy!" THWACK! "Oh yes, you'll learn sissy, you'll learn!" THWACK! "Now get your knickers up and go and do the washing." The wretched sissified male straightened up, his face red and showing his utter misery, and pulled up the frilly pink knickers. Wincing with the pain from his welted rump, he walked awkwardly to to the door. His wife's voice rang out: "Come back here!" He turned and looked at her blankly. Then returned to stand before her. She slapped his face, hard. "What do you do when your Mistress dismisses you?" "Oh.. I-I'm supposed to curtsey." She slapped his face again. "Who am I, the cat's mother?" "Oww! I'm sorry! -- Ma'am. I'm supposed to curtsey, Ma'am." "Well?" He bobbed a little. 



"What was that supposed to be?" 



"A curtsey, Ma'am?" 



"Pathetic! Right! You can have a little break from your chores, and go and do two hours of curtsey practice instead! And then you can get on with the washing! And yes, I will check on the camera!" 



The wretched man bobbed another apology for a curtsey, remembered his "Yes, Ma'am", and scurried off. 



Tom Roberts had never wanted this to happen. He wanted very much to somehow make it all stop. But he could not. 



Bloody `curtsey practice'. It was his wife's latest idea. He hated curtsey practice. But he had to do it. 



In the converted guest bedroom, now the "maid's room", He looked at himself in the mirror. Clad in this ridiculous uniform. Six more like it hung in the wardrobe. He no longer had any other clothes. Miranda had given them to a charity shop. He had made quite a song and dance about that, but it had not got him anywhere. After six months out of work, he had no money of his own, and certainly nowhere else to live.