[This story involves discipline and bodily functions. If either of these topics bothers you, please do not read the story. All characters are well over 18.]
Earlier in my life, I spent some years as a governess. I did not have the occasion to be asked to take charge of a woman older than I was, but I did have thoughts of being able to exercise that authority over the mothers by whom I was employed. These mental wanderings aroused me as I considered how I would discipline these middle-aged women and correct them both privately and in front of their husbands, and even their friends. I have tried to set down here a full account of these imagined times when I would dominate these women in their own homes. It would always occur at their request because the idea of a strict young woman controlling their lives in the most intimate ways was clearly as much in their minds as my taking charge of them was present in my thoughts. My interest was to dominate them as adults in an embarrassing way; they were regarded by me as incipient submissives, not as participants in any age play, infantilism, or regression.
It wasn’t easy for me to explain to my husband that I needed to change my life. It was as if my dreams had conquered my common sense. I told him that I kept having an overpowering desire to be submissive to a young, strict woman in her 20s—I’m 45—and for her to be totally in control of my daily existence.
My husband has been nothing but supportive in all my efforts to find myself over the years. I’ve successfully published novels but now I’m acting like a cliched character in one of them. We have had a great sex life, enjoyable times with friends and even relatives, and children now away at college.
This should be the perfect upper middle-class life. What on earth did I have to complain about?
I’m not complaining. Yet I was yearning for something different. I wanted this strict young woman to make me dress the way she wanted me to dress. I was willing to let her cuckold me (does the word apply to it happening other than to a man but to a woman or a wife?) and I hoped she would humiliate me by spanking me in front of both my family and friends. Then she would also supervise me in the bathroom in as many kinky and embarrassing ways she could imagine.
We advertised on appropriately sleazy websites. Ned made me agree that I could call it off at any time that he hoped I would come to my senses. Any woman whom we hired would have to agree to that so we would put up a generous sum to cover any early termination of the arrangement.
I carefully reviewed quite a few applications. Some of the women were obviously unqualified or too old or too inexperienced. I envisioned the ideal governess as a young, strict, attractive woman who enforced severe, old-fashioned discipline.
We made ourselves interview several candidates. The best did appear in delightfully severe outfits. They also were quite attractive. One caught me peeking up her short skirt and told me that if and when she were offered the job, she would take me across her lap and spank my bare bottom for such effrontery.
The young woman we selected was restrained in her manner and her presentation. She said that she found all the things I had listed as desiring were quite reasonable and that she would take charge of me in the way I wanted. Her name was Suzanne and I found myself drawn to her pleasant appearance—attractive without being gorgeous—and well-spoken style to my liking.
She had a sophistication, it seemed, beyond her years. We showed Suzanne her room and the rest of the house. She asked what her relationship would be with my husband. Ned himself answered by saying that he would not be averse to her developing one. We showed her the draft contract and when we all signed, gave her one of the copies. Ned also wrote her the first check for services to be rendered.
Suzanne was about 5-6 and probably weighed 120 pounds or so. She had a nice curvy frame and sandy blonde hair that was tied into a charming ponytail. She had graduated from a Seven Sisters school and dressed nicely without being flashy in any way.
She left to pack her things and returned several hours later. We were delighted that she was ready to start so soon. She had had several good positions but was now between jobs so this was a perfect fill-in for her while she considered what professional direction she would take.
When she arrived, we spent some time in my bedroom and the attached dressing room going through what clothing I would be wearing. I showed her outfits I had worn when I was closer to her age, which was 25. Suzanne quickly informed me that she wanted me to dress suitably for my age, but in a way that would denote my subservient status in the house..
Then we opened my underwear drawer and Suzanne quickly picked out for me my tightest white cotton and antron panties, most full-sized or hicut. She also opened one of her cases and took out some ruffled pink panties and restrictive shaping control undies that she had figured would fit me. She was delighted that I had a few bras I hadn’t worn in ages that were very plain and obviously very untrendy. They looked ones your grandmother wore. I also had plain white cotton crew socks and some sports gear and outfits. She didn’t like my shoes much but told me I would not be wearing any stylish ones with flair. Instead I would be wearing what used to be called “sensible shoes” which really meant ugly ones but good for your posture.
With her help, I was soon wearing a short but plain skirt and a blouse that looked like its life had been bleached out of it. Suzanne was pleased that from when I had been expected to be dressed up for the office, there were little navy ties I had worn when those were in fashion—part of the “Dress for Success” era. Then we went to her room, where she unpacked her cases and put away her nice clothing.
We went downstairs and Ned drew a breath when he saw me in my short skirt, exposing a lot of thigh. My legs were all right, I thought, probably wrongly, because they were like those of most middle-aged women. But most middle-aged women didn’t wear skirts that made it hard to keep your panties from being exposed.
“Deb looks quite nice in her little skirt and blouse, doesn’t she, Ned?” Suzanne inquired of my husband as if I were a new protégé she were exhibiting for the first time.
“Yes, Suzanne,” Ned answered with a smile. “She looks quite fetching.”
“You do understand, Ned, that she must mind all of my directions without running to you to overrule my word,” she declared.
“Of course, Suzanne,” my husband replied calmly. “She wants and needs your wise discipline, and you have my full support to take any steps in that direction you find to be necessary.”
I tried to remain quiet so as not to incur my new governess’s wrath. I could see that Suzanne could be quite controlling even though she could affect a pleasant attitude with Ned and anyone else but me. I slipped up and called her by her first name while we conversed.
She immediately put on a stern face and told me that I would always refer to her as “Miss” or “Miss Benson”.
“Yes, Miss Benson,” I quickly responded.
“I think we need to make sure you remember that, Deborah,” she said quickly. “You will now lift your skirt and stand right in front of me.”
I got up and walked over to stand facing her in an armless chair while I pulled my skirt up above my waist and tucked it into my belt.
Suzanne leaned forward, put her thumbs in the waistband of my shiny white panties and slowly but efficiently lowered them to my knees. Then she helped me to lie across her tweed-skirted lap. Once there, I was staring at her stockinged shapely legs and actually wondering what she was wearing under it. I was becoming a true submissive.
Then I felt the first spanks I had known as an adult. Suzanne spanked efficiently. She started out methodically and spanked my bottom cheeks alternately. Some of her spanks were aimed at my lower bottom near the crease with my thighs and seemed harder. It was likely that she knew that this was the most sensitive area of my rear end. Being spanked felt exciting but also started to hurt, as I knew it would. It also made me embarrassed even though no one was there to see me get whacked, at least not this time.
She also started moving the index finger of her other hand down between my legs. It quickly discovered that I had become quite wet Then she moved her forefinger back from my vulva and gently pressed its tip into my bottom-hole. I hadn’t expected this, and I was surprised when I heard her show her annoyance that her finger had emerged with some residue of my last bowel movement.
“Deborah,” she announced, “your hiney is dirty. Do you wipe properly when you use the toilet?”
I was suddenly ashamed and managed to stammer, “I thought I had wiped, Miss, but I suppose I didn’t push way inside like your finger did.”
She slapped my bottom really hard and told me that she did not mean to put up with sass from me.
“If I need to check your bottom frequently to make sure there’s no nasty Number Two in there, Deborah,” she said most bluntly, “I will have to do that often until you can present a clean bottom.”
“When do you expect your period?” she then inquired abruptly.
I told her that it was due to start late next week. She followed up by asking me what I used for it.
I answered that I usually used tampons but sometimes had a back-up pad on my heavy second day.
“We will make sure you are wearing proper protection on the day you expect it to start,” she informed me. “I don’t want any staining and you will be punished for any stains in your panties. That includes pee and poo as well as your period.”
“Since I know that women of your age sometimes have vaginal discharge,” she went on, “I think you will need to wear a pantyliner for a few days until I see whether you need to wear one all the time.”
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” she then asked.
“I think I definitely need to pee, Miss Benson,” I said with a bit of embarrassment at this discussion. “I may need to have a bowel movement,” I added.
“Yes, that may explain why my finger emerged soiled from your dirty bottom,” Suzanne declared rather accusingly.
“You may stand and pull up your panties now,” Suzanne ordered.
I did what she said, and she took me by the hand. I noticed that it had been her other hand that had fingered my bottom.
We arrived at my bathroom and Suzanne told me to lift my skirt and sit on the toilet with my panties up.
“How badly do you need to go?” she then asked me.
I felt funny sitting on the toilet seat with my panties still up and told her I was afraid that sitting in this position, I might lose control.
“You will not pee until you are given permission,” she ordered.
I was almost going to cry from shame as well as fear from having to wait to pee like this.
Suzanne was smiling as she told me I could take my panties down but could not begin to pee until she gave me permission to start.
Now I really felt the pressure, probably my nerves stirring up my bladder. I knew that now I would not be able to hold it in too much longer.
Suzanne reached out and felt my open labia with her finger.
“You’re quite wet there,” she commented. “That isn’t pee you have released, I hope?”
“No. Miss Suzanne,” I said. “I think your spanking me got me excited.”
“I don’t want you thinking nasty thoughts when I am disciplining you, Deborah,” she said.
“And I had hoped I wouldn’t need to talk about this,” she added, “but you are forbidden from pleasuring yourself, as even women your age are wont to do. If I find that you have been playing with yourself down there, you will be feeling my thin cane across your bottom.”
This did scare me because I had never been caned. It also excited me incredibly because I regarded being caned by my twenty-years-younger governess as wildly arousing.
She finally gave me the go-ahead to pull down my undies and start peeing. When my stream did not start for a few moments, she told me that I had better get started peeing before she decided that I didn’t need to go and would have to wait. I was wildly happy when my pee stream surged out and made a loud noise hitting the toilet water. Normally, I would have been embarrassed were anyone to hear me peeing.
I realized I would need to ask her to be allowed to have my bowel movement.
“Miss,” I asked plaintively, “I need to make Number Two. Can I go ahead and start?”
“Yes, Deborah, you can go now,” she said with coolness, “but I want you to do it so the turd comes out in one long piece and doesn’t make you need to wipe a lot. Well-bred women learn to do their business neatly. It reflects on how I supervise you if you use someone’s powder room and leave emnants of a messy movement in the bowl.”
I blushed at this comment but started to push a little so she wouldn’t make me stop after my movement was about to come out. Soon I felt my poo begin to slide out and it happily felt like a firm long movement. When it was finished, Suzanne told me to stand so she could inspect.
She looked in the toilet and saw the long firm thick brown log and told me I had behaved well by pooping the way she wanted me to. Then she told me to squat and wipe myself from front to back. I found myself feeling very ashamed of her viewing my shit, as well as the stained toilet paper, and then checking out whether my cunt and asshole were adequately clean.
I apparently passed and she allowed me to pull up my panties. Then she told me to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Suzanne proceeded to pull up her skirt—which while short was not as abbreviated as mine—and pull down her pretty pale blue lacy panties. She was fully shaved, and I could see her slit. Soon she released a strong-smelling jet of urine along with a most unladylike fart (at the sound of which she remained imperturbable and did not show any sign of being embarrassed) and then I heard her excrete what must have been a large turd from her bottom-hole.
Then she spread her legs wide and motioned to me to get on my knees in front of her. I realized she was going to have me lick her clean, at least in front. I complied with her motion to get my face in between her legs. Then I started licking her smooth puffy labia and avoided inserting my tongue into her vagina. Her cunt did have a lovely smell.
As I had feared, she then turned round and I was staring at her puckered anal star. I was delighted that although there was a strong fecal smell, there was in essence no residue of her bowel movement when I licked around her little hole. Then she stood and pulled up her undies and let her skirt back down. Finally, she flushed the now-filled toilet.
We proceeded now to the kitchen where Suzanne was happy to allow me to prepare a light dinner for her, me, and my husband. It felt funny doing this in my short skirt, , but I just did what I normally did and soon we had dinner on the table and Suzanne had called my husband to join us.
After dinner, she told me to stay in the family room and watch TV if I wanted to. She turned the channel to a program about women worrying about whether their husbands were cheating on them with younger women. I was instructed not to change the channel.
Suzanne went off with Ned and when she came to take me to bed, we first went into her room where she had found some amusing pajamas for me. They even had one of those drop-seat bottoms used for aged, incontinent, or incompetent persons where the seat could be opened, presumably for use of the toilet. I instantly thought about it being used to bare my bottom for spanking. This in itself was highly humiliating.
It was getting late and Suzanne told me to sit there until she returned. She apparently went into my bedroom and changed into a nightgown, which was white and sexy. Ned was already in our bed. I knew that he usually just wore a tee and boxers. Suddenly I saw that a small bed had been set up, far lower to the ground than our big one.
It was long enough for either Suzanne or me. Soon I heard what I most feared: that I would be sleeping in that low single bed and that she would be in my bed with my husband.
I had given some thought to this possibility but now that it was happening, I hoped that my marriage would survive my fantasies playing out like this. I got under the covers and Suzanne came over and gave me a sweet kiss on my lips.
“Good night, Deb,” she said. “I hope you are finding things pleasant and what you want.”
I told her that I did and then she got into the big bed with Ned and switched off the lamp on the night table next to her bed. I tried to calm myself so I could sleep but it wasn’t long before I heard rustling of movement in the marital bed. Suzanne was clearly readying Ned to engage in sex with her. I heard Ned telling her that yes, that did feel good and imagined that she was stimulating him by running her finger up over his balls and his cock.
Then I heard more rustling and knew that my husband was between her spread legs and licking what must be a wet quim. I could detect smells of arousal. Suzanne was now making little mewing sounds as Ned’s talented tongue laved her labia and clit and probably was poking into her vagina.
She began moving her bottom and making sounds of sexual excitement. Finally, I could feel certain that my husband’s nice-sized cock was all the way inside her cunt, fucking her delightfully. I already missed that sex, which we had been having fairly regularly, well, about once almost every week.
Suzanne was obviously not a quiet lover, and I don’t think she was making more sounds for my benefit, although it certainly made me feel embarrassed and bereft to know my husband was joyfully fucking this stunning young woman. I did think for a moment about what I had gotten myself into. But I also was very wet and began worrying that Suzanne would punish me if she found that my pajama crotch were wet or stained with my sexually aroused juices.
They continued to fuck for a good while. Suzanne seemed to be a hot little number who went into motion when Ned’s penis entered her cunt. I could tell that she orgasmed by her moaning and that Ned had likely cum deep inside her. I thought sadly about my being forbidden to masturbate.
Maybe what made me most jealous then was just hearing them kissing. Suzanne seemed to be quite adept at getting Ned to do whatever she wanted him to do to satisfy her clearly powerful young sex drive. From what I could discern of their shapes, Ned was back between her legs licking her and this time he might be servicing her bottom-hole with his tongue.
“Yes, keep teasing my nipples too, Ned,” she whispered, “I love that, darling, and do my little hole, too.”
I realized that Ned was living out what likely was one of his dreams—to have a hot lovely young woman in his bed to enjoy and satisfy. It gave some relief to recognize that Suzanne was not likely to have any long-term attraction to Ned. But it was wonderfully unclear how this project would evolve.
I had always wanted Ned to take charge of me in bed. I even tried to indicate to him that he could spank me if he wanted to. He said that he loved me, he enjoyed our sex together, but that he didn’t like the idea of hitting me. I decided it didn’t make sense to pursue this further.
Eventually, I began discussing the idea of our hiring a young strict woman to be my governess.
“How would you feel, Deb, if she ended up in bed with me?” he asked, not teasing.
I responded, probably to his surprise, that I loved him dearly but that I did want this woman to take charge of me and if that included taking my place in bed, that would work—at least for as long as we both wanted it to go on.