Chapter One

The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women

 

The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women shook some Ajax into a toilet and used the scrub brush vigorously. He folded a paper towel into a square then sprayed the seat and rubbed it clean. He did not work quickly for he was under no deadline, but he was always mindful of doing the best possible job and leaving everything in the sparkling clean state that would please Cathy, Lydia, and Sarah. He threw that paper towel away, then paused in his work to take a couple of drinks of cold water from a Dixie cup.

Looking in the mirror above the sink, he admired his own clean-shaven reflection. He was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and ruggedly handsome. He possessed a light beige complexion, short wavy hair of a medium brown color, bright blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and prominent cheekbones. He tore off another paper towel, and removed the Kleenex box and the latest issue of the Reader's Digest from the tank before wiping it clean.

Then he gave the same careful and thorough treatment to the sink, the mirror above it, and finally the bathtub. Before he left the lavatory, he looked around to make sure he had left no spot behind that he was capable of erasing. Finally, he sprayed the bathroom lightly with air freshener and went to Cathy and Lydia's bedroom.

There he removed knick-knacks and jewelry boxes from atop the two chests, setting them down temporarily on the ladies' bed. He dusted the chests, trying to get all the crevices between the drawers. A certain fluttery sensation of sexual arousal mingled with fear and shame rose inside him as he got to the bottom drawer of the larger, maple chest: that was where the instruments of his correction were kept. He dusted the frames around the pictures hanging up on the walls. Then he returned to the kitchen to fetch a can of wax and polished what he had just dusted until the wood glowed with a fine sheen. He put each knick-knack back in its place after carefully removing the dust from it. Like most people, The Man had a name. However, unless he was at his regular job as an actuary (luckily he was back to working under a woman boss) or at church or in some other public venue, he did not like to think of himself by his name. He preferred to think of himself as The Man or simply as "fella", the term used for him by Cathy, Lydia, and Sarah.

Taking a break from his chores, he went to the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. He took that into the living room with a Coke and turned on the tube.

It was quite awhile after that, while he was in his own bedroom reading a recent issue of Time, when the buzzer went off. He jumped up. It was time for inspection. He quickly combed his hair and straightened out his butler's uniform, slipped into his shoes and headed for the living room.

Cathy and Lydia were there. As was her wont, Cathy sat up in a straight-backed chair while Lydia was stretched out on the couch, shoes beside it and head propped against a pillow. Cathy was in her early twenties and Lydia had recently turned forty. Even though they were together all the time, no one ever took them for mother and daughter because they looked nothing alike except that both were of average height. Cathy was pleasingly plump, very large-breasted, with a light olive complexion and short, jet black hair that she wore parted on the side and in an old-fashioned pageboy. On this day, she was wearing a maroon-colored business suit with a black blouse. She wore light make-up and no jewelry. Lydia was a svelte, small-breasted blonde with alabaster skin and an oval-shaped face. She had small green eyes and a large black mole on the side of her chin. Attired in a dark blue dress and pale stockings, she had no make-up on save for a baby pink lipstick. She wore earrings of gold in teardrop shapes, a couple of thin gold-colored necklaces and rings on both hands.

"You called," fella said with a brief bow.

"Yes, indeed," Cathy replied. She looked around the clean and tidy room. "It looks like a pretty good job."

"Thank you, Madam," he replied.

Lydia rose from the couch and pulled up the cushions. "You remembered to clean under here this time," she commented, slipping her shoes on.

"Yes, Madam," he replied.

Cathy continued around the room and stopped at the windowsill. She looked at her fingers: covered with dirt. "Uh-oh," she uttered. Her brown eyes narrowed as she looked at The Man. "Not so good, fella," she commented. "I am sorry, Madam," he said with his head bowed.

With Cathy in the lead, Lydia behind her, and fella last, the group went into the east wing bathroom.

"It sparkles," Lydia said with evident satisfaction.

"Thank you, Madam," he replied.

"But... my glass," Lydia said in a severe tone.

"Yes, Madam?" he asked.

Lydia showed him the little black ceramic cup (Cathy, like fella, drank from Dixie cups when in the bathroom). He could see that there was a small, reddish stain in the bottom of it. He ought to have washed it or at least replaced it with a fresh one.

Again his head bowed as he said, "I am sorry, Madam."

"You should be, fella," Lydia remonstrated.

He was silent and his head was still bowed.

The group trooped into the bedroom. Cathy went to one corner and Lydia to the other. The Man waited.

"This room looks OK to me," Lydia decided.

"Thank you, Madam," he said.

"Except for right here," Cathy said. "Look." She indicated the space below one of the chests. The other two bent down to examine it.

Lydia's look of disappointment said it all.

"I'm sorry," The Man said.

"Yeah, fella," Lydia said. "It looks like we're going to have to do some serious chastising."

"Very good, Madam," he replied with a bow.

"Do you think we should wait for Sarah?" Cathy asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Lydia said with a shrug. "We don't know how late she might be. I think we should proceed with fella's discipline."

"OK," Cathy said. "Let's begin."

The Man pulled his pants and briefs down to his thighs. Then he sank to his knees with his bottom exposed, crawled to the corner of the large bedroom and opened the drawer where the instruments of correction were kept. He pulled out two wooden paddles, both round in shape but one solid and one with holes in it, a thick leather belt, and a birch. He placed the belt in his mouth. Holding the paddles and birch in his left hand, he crawled slowly and awkwardly to where the two women stood.

There was the somewhat distant sound of the house's front door opening.

"Good," Lydia noted. "Sarah's home."

"Hello, dears, how is everything going?" Sarah hollered as she walked into the bedroom. Sarah was a slender, buxom, and very pretty young woman of mixed Asian and white ancestry. Her skin was of a dark peanut yellow and her eyes were quite slanted. Straight black hair streamed past her shoulders. She wore a jacket and skirt of a subdued orange color, a white blouse, black stockings, and black pumps. Her make-up was rather heavy and her lipstick was a very bright orange. She had a gold choker about her neck and thin gold circles dangling from her ears.

"You can tell her, fella," Cathy said.

From his position on the floor, The Man said, "My housekeeping was quite imperfect so I must be disciplined."

"Oh," Sarah said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "What did you do wrong?"

"I forgot to dust the windowsill in the living room," he replied. "I left Lydia's cup in the bathroom when it should have been replaced with a fresh one and I failed to vacuum the space under one of the chests in this room."

"Tut-tut," Sarah uttered, shaking her head sadly. "You certainly do deserve to be punished, don't you, fella?"

"Yes, Madam," he said.

"Have you decided how many swats he will take?" Sarah asked of the other two ladies.

"Not yet," Lydia said. "But I think it should be twenty with each paddle, twenty with the belt, and another twenty with the birch."

"Sounds OK to me," Sarah concurred.

"Not to me," Cathy interjected. "It was twenty from each instrument last time and last time there were only two infractions. This time there are three. I think we need to go a little stricter if we're going to drive home the lesson."

"Thirty?" Lydia suggested.

"Yes, that sounds about right," Cathy agreed.

Sarah nodded approvingly, then looked down upon fella. "Thirty times four," she said, bending over a bit to play fondly with his hair. "How many strokes is that, fella?"

"One hundred and twenty," he said softly.

"Yes, very good at arithmetic, aren't you, fella?"

"Thank you, Madam."

The three dominant women had long ago established the order in which they gave fella his correction. "Age before beauty," as Lydia once said and she went first, Sarah second, with Cathy third.

Lydia sat upon the side of the bed, holding the solid wooden paddle. The Man crawled to her, humbly kissed the tip of her shoe, and then draped himself across her lap. Lydia held the paddle before his face and he planted a kiss on it.

Swat! "One," Lydia said. The buttocks of The Man tensed automatically with the pain, then relaxed so the next swat would sting a bit more. He always had to take a swat over again if it landed upon tightened buttocks.

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! "Two, three, four, five, six," Lydia said as fella's ass cheeks tightened in response to the blow, then loosened, then tightened and loosened in succession as the cheeks began to lightly pinken. He gasped, but was not yet in enough pain to "ouch" out loud.

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Lydia paused in her strokes to ask, "How many is that now, fella?"

"Twelve, Madam," he replied.

"Very good math," Sarah told him. She reached over and fondly mussed up his hair again, exchanging smiles with Lydia.

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! "Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen," Lydia counted with each stroke.

"Ouch! Ow! Oh!" he exclaimed as the swats began to really hurt.

"Now you start keeping count, fella," Lydia ordered.

"Very good, Madam," he replied.

Swat! "Ow, nineteen," he uttered as he relaxed his ass cheeks for the next blow. Swat! "Twenty." Swat! Swat! Swat! "Twenty-one, ow, twenty-two, twenty-three." Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! "Ouch! Twenty-four, twenty-five, ouch! Twenty-six, twenty-seven, ow! Twenty-eight." Swat! Swat! "Twenty-nine, ow, thirty."

Time for Sarah. The Man slid to the floor and waited as Lydia rose and the younger woman took her place. He kissed the toe of Sarah's shoe and handed her the paddle with holes in it. Then he clambered over her lap. She took a moment to enjoy the sight of his pinkened behind, then got to work.

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat!

"Ow! Oh! Ouch!" The Man had to concentrate extra hard to relax the muscles in his ass cheeks after the blows from the multi-holed paddle because it carried a sharper sting.

"One, two, three, four, five, six," Sarah counted after each swing. Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! "Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve."

"Ow! Ow! Oh, ouch!" fella exclaimed as his ass cheeks bounced and jiggled in time with Sarah's paddle.

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Sarah counted in silence until she both reached and said, "Twenty." His ass was turning a deep shade of red.

"Twenty," Cathy repeated with a broad grin. "Hurry up so I can get my licks in."

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat!

"Ouch! Oh! Oh! Ow!"

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat!

"Oh! Ow!"

"Thirty," Sarah said, looking at fella's bottom with no small degree of satisfaction.