Chivalry's Future is Bleak in Chapter 33
My week had been rough. But it got worse on Tuesday. People who thought I needed to experience male masochism up close – Luke, Paul, and Brooke, maybe even Neil – were certainly getting their wish. Not that I agreed, but I couldn't deny the authenticity of the situation.
The day started with me having to wait until Brooke and Luke were asleep to finish my punishment lines. When my alarm went off at 5 AM on Tuesday morning, after just four hours of sleep, I groaned.
As I was driving to Kevin's mom's house, I got a text from him: "Get me an Egg McMuffin from McDonald's on your way here. Text me when you get here so you don't wake up my mom."
I was dressed in a clean pair of yoga pants and simple black T-shirt (fortunately, at that time, my dresser wasn't full of humiliating shirts like it is now, and my "cuckold horns" shirt was dirty). I was grateful for the drive-thru at McDonald's. I resisted the temptation to also order some hash browns and limited myself to just a banana and a cup of coffee. I wanted to avoid more punishment in the future after my weigh-in.
Although it was another hot day, it was still cool as the sun was rising when I pulled up to the house. Kevin was waiting for me on the porch. He didn't thank me for the sandwich or offer to reimburse me for it. Instead, he inspected the work I had already done on his truck. Finding fault with the cleanliness of the wheel rims, he told me to stop cleaning the inside of the car and to focus on the wheels and hubcaps. I tried to explain that I had cleaned these areas repeatedly the day before but couldn't remove some of the blemishes on the aging vehicle. He stood above me, supervising my work on my knees, pointing out areas that he thought weren't clean enough.
"Sir, I can't get this spot out. I've tried several times," I said as I scrubbed a black mark on one of the rear wheels. It looked like it had been there for years. Kevin's boots were right next to my face as I crouched down and scrubbed.
"Scrub harder."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm scrubbing as hard as I can. Some of these stains just won't come off."
"You're not trying hard enough. Here, let me try." He took the sponge from me and bent over to scrub it. It took some effort, but he managed to remove the spot.
"See, you're not working hard enough. Luke will be disappointed."
"Sir, I promise you that I'm trying as hard as I can. I'm just not as strong as you are, sir. You've really bulked up at the gym since the last time I saw you." I hoped a little flattery would convince him not to complain about me to Luke.
He flexed his bicep and admired it.
"That's really impressive, sir. Compare it to mine." I flexed mine in response, feeling like Popeye without spinach standing next to Brutus.
"I guess you're right." He said. "If you clean my boots and tools, I might not tell Luke about it."
Has a pattern emerged? An escalating slope of submission. If I hadn't been forced to clean Luke's truck the last time I was caught by Kelly, I might never have met Paul and, later that day, would not be at his condo working as his maid. It seemed like one act of submission and exposure led to another. Where would it end? Would it ever? At the time, my concessions always seemed like good ideas, given my lack of alternatives.
And so, it probably won't surprise you to learn that I agreed. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I think I can use the same soapy water and leather conditioner I'm using on your truck. If you take them off, I can start right away."
"Remove them? Why bother? Just do them here," he pulled down the tailgate of his truck and sat on it. I filled a new bucket of soap and water and got back on my knees to start my task.
"My boots are dirtier than usual. My last job was a real mess. Literally." He laughed.
I tried not to think about how exactly his boots became so dirty. As I used a towel to wipe off the foul-smelling, caked-on debris, Kevin had a smug, arrogant expression on his face, as if having a guy twice his age kneeling before him to clean his boots was completely normal. I heard the sound of a photo being taken on a phone and looked up to see Kevin's iPhone pointed at me.
"What are you doing, sir?"
"I just wanted to text Kaylee. She'll get a kick out of this."
What could I respond with? Should I provoke him and probably face Luke's anger? I kept quiet.
I started polishing his boots after cleaning them, using the same leather conditioner I had previously used on the truck's seats. It was during this time that Kevin's mother, Darla, stepped out of the house, wearing sweatpants and a jacket while holding a cup of coffee. My manhood responded when I got on my knees in front of Kevin; submissiveness always aroused me. However, it was when Darla appeared that my cock felt claustrophobic in its confinement.
"Oh, it's you again," she said, glancing at me.
"Wally didn't have enough time to finish my truck yesterday before it got dark," replied Kevin.
"Good morning, ma'am," I said.
She ignored my greeting, instead saying, "It doesn't appear that he's cleaning your truck now, does it? Seems like Luke's new subordinate is now your subordinate, too. I raised some intelligent sons. This one's not wearing a bikini like Luke forced his previous cleaner to wear when he hosted the truck before he handed it over to you." She laughed heartily as she recalled one of my predecessors' humiliations at the hands of her eldest son. Delighted to be part of a beloved family custom.
"Walter, stand up and show my mother the women's workout pants, or whatever they are, that Luke makes you wear."
I complied, causing Darla to chuckle. "Those are women's workout pants, sweetie. But I can see the bulge beneath them. One of Luke's methods of dominating the men he bed. As he's said many times, 'If you truly wish to dominate a man, control his cock.'"
"Wally is a professor at a university," Kevin continued. "Luke informed me that he studied at one of those esteemed East Coast schools."
"You can see how that's worked out for him," she laughed, addressing me. "Going back inside as I have a feeling I'll be seeing more of you."
Kevin instructed me to bring his tools from the garage to the driveway and then clean them with soapy water before placing them in the truck bed. He observed me at every step.
When I completed the task, he praised me, a sentiment that was ungrateful. "Nice work on my boots and tools. Now that I have my driver's license, I may need an assistant. I'll talk to Luke about letting me borrow you at times."
I didn't react, hoping that this was just a fleeting thought that would soon be forgotten. However, it was the beginning of a downward spiral of submission.
After I completed cleaning the truck's interior, Kevin left for work and I made my way to campus to teach my Chivalry and Courtly Love in Medieval Literature class, still wearing the leather choker. I was extremely nervous and self-conscious while lecturing to the 24 students in front of me.
Having to be at Paul's and Anna's by 4 PM, I stationed myself at a drugstore to purchase furniture wax and a toothbrush. Hungry and feeling extremely depleted, I decided to treat myself to lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant. After a hard day's labor and an unhealthy diet, I was fatigued and felt entitled to a small indulgence. I chose seafood Tom Yum soup and beef Massaman curry. Though high in calories, I reasoned that it wouldn't do much harm after my recent stringent diet.
Just as I was enjoying my soup, the waitress brought my curry and steamed rice to the table. Just then, I spotted Neil entering the restaurant with a female coworker, Annabelle Nash (she taught Shakespeare mainly). They chatted with me briefly when they sat down, but Neil stole glances at the food on my table and shook his head critically. Despite my self-consciousness, I voraciously consumed the remainder of my soup and then cleaned my plate (grateful that Neil's back was towards his table). After paying for my meal, I walked over to bid farewell to Neil and Annabelle.
"Hey, buddy, would you mind visiting my office around 2:30?" Neil requested.
"No problem, Neil. Goodbye, Annabelle."
When we met later, Neil shut the door and told me to sit down.
"Walter, I've got a problem I hope you can help me with. Luke asked me to tell him if I caught you disobeying your diet in college," he said seriously.
"The restaurant isn't on campus," I quipped, trying to make a joke.
"I know what you mean," he replied. "Was that a beef Massaman curry? Don't you know how many calories are in that dish? And all the carbs in the rice? You should always ask for brown rice instead of white."
"I hardly ate anything in the past few days. I only had a banana for breakfast."
"You're always making excuses, Walter. That's why you've been at the same weight for weeks. To lose more, you need to be stricter about your meals and exercise more. No more excuses."
"You're right, sir." I begged him not to inform Luke.
"I know what the consequences will be if I do. But I promised him. And his disciplined methods have worked for you."
"Please, don't tell him. I can repay you some other way." I offered him a foot massage.
Neil thought for a moment. "How about you bring me a coffee each day during the week we're on campus? I think it won't conflict with your teaching schedule. The walking to The Corner Cafe and back, about 3300 steps, will do you good. That way, I won't feel bad for not reporting your dietary transgression."
"Alright, thanks Neil. I mean, sir."
Neil stood up and shook my hand. "Deal, and please don't call me 'sir' here, buddy."
"Thanks, Neil."
"But I will accept that foot massage offer of yours on Wednesdays after my back-to-back classes."
"Of course, thank you again, Neil." I left his office. Thus, I became Neil's coffee servant for the rest of the semester (and even during my sabbatical). And at the same time, his foot masseuse, or reflexologist, or whatever you want to call it. What a quick transformation—I went from offering to give him a foot massage in return for his silence, to him drinking coffee four days a week and receiving a foot massage once a week. I guess I'm not proficient in negotiating.
I drove to Paul and Anna's condo—the next stop in my day of servitude and humiliation. While making a mental list of the things I'd need for my subsequent visit, the Paul Simon song "Slip Sliding Away" played in my head:
Slip sliding away
The closer you are to your destination
The more you're slip sliding away
If Paul's lyrics were true, the greater my slide, the nearer I'd be to my true self. I wondered how much farther I needed to fall. Would I be everyone's slave by the time I hit rock bottom?
As I approached the lobby, I remembered: I'd forgotten Anna's instruction to study curtsying. I could only hope she'd forgotten about it. Otherwise, maybe I could improvise. But did I really want to be alone with Paul?
Armed with my bag containing the furniture polish, a toothbrush, and the punishment lines, I entered the lobby, where the same arrogant doorman sat at his desk.
"I'm here to see Paul Betz."
"And who might you be?" He enjoyed making me reveal my identity.
"The housekeeper," I said meekly.
"Mr. Betz says you can enter his apartment. It's in 11B. The elevator is over there." He beamed like he'd won a prize.
When I arrived at their door, I followed Paul's instructions and knelt down. I pondered what to do next. Should I ring the doorbell or knock, or would that bother them? I had been notified they would be expecting me, so they knew I would be coming via the elevator. I waited there for some time. As I waited, it seemed less logical to ring the doorbell. Maybe they were just busy and not ready for me yet. Maybe they were...engaging in intimacy? I didn't want to upset them. And so, I kept waiting.
I heard the sound of the elevator door opening, and my heart sank. A woman in her mid-thirties, passing by me to her apartment next door, glanced down at me amusingly. When she entered her apartment, I heard her inform someone inside, "It seems Paul and Anna have a new addition," before the door closed again.
Shortly after, the door in front of me finally opened. "You may enter," Paul said, his feet visible first.
"You can come in. Remember, on your knees," he instructed.
I prepared to crawl into the apartment but he stopped me. "No! I said on your knees, not on your hands and knees. I said on your knees," he clarified.
I pushed myself forward awkwardly into the apartment, cursing myself for not purchasing knee pads as Paul had recommended. I decided I would need to take greater care to avoid making errors in the future.
"Lines," he stated.
I handed him the several loose-leaf pages I had brought. "Here you are, sir."
Despite the physical pain of writing all those lines, the mental torment of having to repeatedly pen that I would no longer refer to academic integrity - a topic of immense importance to me, admittedly - was more toxic. Paul was well aware of this. I was learning, however, that, despite their disparate styles, like Luke, Paul was a mistreatment specialist, with a keen ability to pinpoint one's tender spots and torture them for humiliating effect. I was the lucky one.
"I'll review them and check the neatness of your writing later. Did you bring the Johnson's wax and toothbrush?"
"Yes, sir. Here they are." I showed him the contents of my bag.
Anna entered the living room from the kitchen, still chewing an apple. Both were wearing similar outfits to before, Paul in sweatpants and Anna in tight yoga pants. Anna's feet had pedicured toes painted a metallic silver color, which she noticed me admiring.
"Worry not, Kneel Rollins; you will become intimately familiar with my feet very soon. They will be your best friends before you know it."
"More like his unattainable crush," Paul quipped.
"We possess different preferences, Paul," Anna corrected him.
"Corrections," Paul said. "Professor servitude will need to be careful with how he interacts with Anna, Kelly, and me, both here and in class from now on. We are his unique students."
"We are the teacher's pets, and the teacher is our pet," Anna joked.
Although I didn't intend to be condescending - I was literally kneeling, for god's sake - it apparently seeped into my tone on occasion. Perhaps as a side effect of my job as a professor? Or more likely, in the circumstances in which I was now increasingly finding myself.
"Remove your clothes," Paul commanded.
"Yes, sir. Can I stand for a moment?"
Paul permitted this with a nod. I swiftly removed my shoes, socks, shirt, and jeans, standing before them in just my panties and chastity cage.
"Obeisance here refers to assuming the stance of respect and subservience before your superiors," Paul explained.
"Yes, sir. I understand the meaning of the word, but I'm unsure of the specific posture you want me to adopt."
"I'm not fond of your lackadaisical demeanor. It reminds me of your correction of me in class on Monday regarding the cucking stool. We'll be teaching you to stop using that tone with us. Certainly not here, where you're merely a slave. But not in class, either. You'll need to be exceedingly cautious when addressing Anna, Kelly, and me in class from now on. We're your special pupils."
"We're the teacher's pets, and the teacher is our pet," Anna giggled.
Standing a few feet away from them, I followed Paul's instructions, grinding my groin into the floor. It was both uncomfortable and I worried that my chastity device would scratch their wooden floor. Thankfully, an area rug covered most of the gap between us, so I could slide myself—or more accurately, slither—toward their feet. Deciding to prioritize the ladies, I placed kisses on Anna's pretty bare feet and then on Paul's sock-covered ones.
Paul inquired, "Where is Luke now?"
From my position on my stomach mere inches from their toes, I responded, "He's on a trip today, sir."
"Overnight?"
"Yes, sir."
"And your wife?"
I hadn't told them about Brooke's job during Paul's initial questioning at O'Riordans. Their knowledge of my life made me uneasy.
"Yes, sir."
"You didn't call me 'sir.' That's one negative point. By the way, do you know about hours employees work when they're required to be at a restaurant?"
I hadn't revealed anything about Brooke's job, even during Paul's initial interrogation at O'Riordans, but he somehow knew all about it.
"Yes, sir."
"What time does she return home normally?"
"Usually around 10:30 or so, sir."
Anna spoke up, "That works. You can stay here longer than two hours. Things are a mess at our condo, and we're having a small gathering on Thursday. That stupid girl Chrissy claimed her mother was sick. Apparently, she couldn't clean on Sunday. I guess you'll be responsible for cleaning, professor maid. Where is your uniform dress?"
I had forgotten about a previous request. I quickly lied. "My wife wore it today, miss. Sometimes, she enjoys wearing it." Did he have a way of checking on that too?
"Bring it with you on Thursday. Fortunately, I picked out some other things for you to wear tomorrow. You'll find your clothes on and next to the spanking bench in the dungeon. You can change in there before greeting us."
"Yes, miss. Thank you."
I ascended to the dungeon to find an outfit waiting for me. In addition to the sheer black stockings and garter belt, there was a white lace maid's cap, and oddly enough, a pair of black high heels that fit. The garter had a Velcro strap, making it easy to put on. The stockings were more challenging; the metal clasps were tricky to attach to them. I then donned the cap. Finally, I faced the most challenging part: the heels. They were the right size, but I was unsteady while walking in them, almost twisting my ankle. Despite my discomfort, I looked somewhat ridiculous in the mirror hanging inside the dungeon door—bare-chested with erect nipples and wearing these ridiculous heels.
Anna chuckled loudly when I shakily entered the living room. My hard-on strained against its cage as I presented myself to them, watching them examine my attire.
"My pet, you'll get used to the heels eventually. Now, demonstrate your curtsey."
The moment I'd been dreading. Do I admit to forgetting her instruction and ask for forgiveness, or just give it a shot? I chose the latter, and it turned out to be a poor decision. Since I didn't have a skirt to lift, I attempted to mimic it, but it was a complete failure, not lifting a nonexistent skirt, not bending my knees, not maintaining eye contact with my mistress, and not keeping my position while bending them. Anna frowned.
"That's pathetic. Did you even make an effort to practice?", she asked Paul.
"I don't think so. He seems to be a clueless, shallow thinker."
"Really?" Anna said with disdain.
"Alright. You'll learn your lesson." Anna remarked towards me. "Maybe a bit of pain will help you remember what we told you to do in the future."
"Yes, Princess Anna. I'll be extra careful when learning how to curtsy before Thursday."
"Make sure." She insisted. "Including a deep curtsy."
"That won't absolve you from today's mistake." Paul added as he made his way towards me. "Hurry up and get busy."
The piles of dirty clothing cluttered the apartment. I started a load of laundry, cleaning up after the couple's mess. I later learned they never tidied up themselves. Instead, they relied on an ever-increasing number of workers to do their chores for them. It was tough for me walking on heels, but Anna was right --- I adapted quickly. By the end of the nearly four hours I was with them on that Tuesday, I was walking in them comfortably.
As I carried out their tasks, I caught snippets of their conversation.
Anna shared, "It's a shame we can't control his dick."
To which Paul responded, "I know. I'm working on it. But it'll take some time."
"That makes sense. Without full control over his dick, he won't truly be our slave, understand?"
"I do. Just be patient."
"What's your plan?" Anna asked, directing her attention towards me. "Or would you prefer he doesn't know?"
"I don't mind if he hears. There's nothing he can do to stop it anyway. Key to success is to befriend Luke. He loaned Rollins to us at the Ren fair. I assume he'd be willing to share him again."
I was familiar with Paul having taken a class from Neil the previous year, but learning they were in touch since the Ren fair worried me. I hoped there wasn't anything more they bonded over.
As Anna instructed me to polish the coffee table and end tables in their big living room, I overheard them.
"I'm considering getting rid of that mahogany dining set. It just doesn't suit our aesthetic.", Paul told Anna.
"But mahogany is a status symbol... besides, it's well made.", she replied.
"I've always hated mahogany. Do you know how to use that Johnson's paste?"
"Yeah. And your paint cannot stand on the transitional table."
"The end tables as well."
"Alright. But I'm not very good at buffing."
"I'll teach you."
Still on my knees, I was ordered to wet the polishing cloth and rub the paste on the polished areas of the coffee table. Paul and Anna magnetically watched as I did so, occasionally commenting on the areas I'd missed. When I was done with the coffee table, they instructed me to clean the other furniture.
Soon, I heard an alarm.
"Drop what you're doing!", Paul ordered, walking over. "It's your punishment time. Typically, I don't mete out discipline until a servant has finished all tasks for the day. However, since we can't leave any marks on you right now, I'm making an exception. Today's five demerits from last week, plus the one from today. Additionally, your failure to learn curtsying."
"But, sir, what about the punishment lines..."
"You're questioning me?", he interrupted. "The lines were to rectify your senseless fixation with academic integrity."
"But, sir, didn't you promise to address my demerits on Thursday when I'm here longer?"
"That was before I learned you'd be staying longer today. I intend to take advantage of it. And I'm also looking forward to when our guests arrive.", Paul added with a grin.
"Who's coming?", I asked, unsettled.
"Kelly and Archer." Anna chimed in.
"Archer, Anna?"
"Archer is Kelly's boyfriend. You both have history. He saw you cleaning Luke's truck in a speedo, remember? And you washed his muddy boots at the Ren fair. That was such a blast, Anna joked."
Without a word, I approached Paul and lay over his lap, savoring the odd moment of being on the same lap as my student. This strange situation was unnerving.
Here's a paraphrased version of the text:
"Spanking with your hands can cause a lot of pain, yet there won't be any visible marks left behind. The redness will disappear within a couple of hours, and I think I know how to bring you close to leaving bruises without actually causing them. The key is to keep at it. I'm going to give you 20 spanks for each demerit you receive. Usually, I'd only spank with a paddle, strap, or crop, or even a cane, but with my hands, it's different. We'll assess your cleaning after you're finished, and any extra demerits earned today will be dealt with on Thursday." Paul gently rubbed my bottom as he spoke, an unexpectedly sensual display of power.
"Imagine getting to spank one of your professors!", Anna remarked excitedly to her boyfriend.
"It's a box I can check off the list. In the future, I'd like to have a Senator or a Governor over my lap."
"Why not the President?"
"Submissive men and those who enjoy pain can be found in every field."
And thus, his hand descended hard onto my covered bottom. It struck again and again. While the initial spanking was painful, it was the accumulation of blows that turned it into a sob-inducing punishment. I managed to hold back until around the 30th strike. By the time I reached the 50th, I was kicking my legs. Eventually, I kicked hard enough that both of my heels came off. My panties offered little protection, yet about halfway through my punishment, he pulled them down and spanked me on my bare bottom. Around the same time, the tears began to flow, and I started squirming around on his lap.
"Stay still!"
I tried valiantly, but with each strike, I continued to squirm on his lap. Then Paul reached between my legs and forcefully grabbed my balls. That certainly caught my attention.
As he squeezed them, Paul said, "Can you be still now?"
"Yes, sir. I can!"
I managed to stay still as Paul delivered the remaining strokes. He eased me off his lap and onto the floor once he was finished.
"I would usually make you stand in the corner with your bottom exposed for 30 minutes or so, but I'd like to make sure you can complete your cleaning."
I wiped my eyes clear of tears and said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Anna sat down next to Paul on the couch and slid her hand into his sweatpants. She then asked, "Was that as exciting for you as it was for me? Oh, I can tell it was! Let's go have passionate sex on our newly made bed."
"It sounds great. If we hurry, you can wash the sheets again before you leave."
Which is precisely what they did. Upon inspecting my work, they gave me two more demerits that day.
Before I departed, Anna provided detailed instructions for the meal I was to prepare on Thursday.
By 9:30 PM, I had arrived home. With Luke out of town, I was looking forward to Brooke letting me go. I expected either a footjob or even the chance to make love to her as she had on Thanksgiving. Despite being extremely tired, I had been in a continuous state of sexual arousal throughout the day and the various humiliations, and I yearned to be released.
Unfortunately, Brooke had a challenging evening at the restaurant (two men who made passes at her, and one who stiffed her after she politely turned him down), and her mood was sour. Instead of letting me go, I spent more time on my hurting knees, happily massaging her feet through her sweaty stockings as she quietly watched TV.
That was the best part of my long, long day.
Read also:
- My Close Friend, a Female, Fondled Me
- A Stepmother's Varied Testimony: Volume 3
- Listening to Their Groans: The Complete Narrative
- Slim, Youthful, and Well-Endowed in Part 2
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