I was awoken the next morning with a text from Brooke: Walk into town and get us two iced coffees. Then make us breakfast. Luke likes pancakes with syrup and bacon.

I texted back: Yes, miss.

I could imagine the two of them sitting in bed, laughing at my obsequious response to her demand. 

After I returned, I brought the iced coffees upstairs to the two lovers lying happily in bed reading their iPhones.

“Here are your drinks, sir, and miss. I’ll now go make the pancakes and bacon.”I received no thanks or acknowledgment whatsoever as the two of them began kissing, Luke squeezing Brooke’s right nipple. I left the room to the sound of her softly moaning and their lips smacking. 

When I was finished making breakfast, I texted Brooke accordingly, asking them to come down to the dining room, where I had set the table for three.

She texted back: Bring our breakfast upstairs. 

I placed their plates on a serving tray and brought them up to the bedroom, along with two glasses of orange juice. As I started to leave to go eat my breakfast that was getting cold downstairs, Luke said, “Where do you think you’re going, prof?”

“I was going to eat my pancakes in the kitchen.”

“Well, there’s a couple of problems with that. First, pancakes and bacon have a shitload of calories. Your wife and I are in good shape — better shape after last night, right babe? — so we can treat ourselves to high calorie and high carb foods once in a while. But pancakes and bacon are definitely not on your new diet.”

“My new diet, sir?”

“Yes, we’re going to weigh you after breakfast, but just looking at your fat ass running last night, I’d say you could stand to lose at least 30 pounds. So Brooke and I are going to figure out a low carb, low calorie diet for you.”

Brooke added, “We have some strawberries and blueberries in the fridge. You can make yourself a fruit salad for breakfast, and go shopping later after we plan your diet.”

As Brooke was well aware, I was not a big fruit eater (I was better with vegetables), so was less than thrilled with her idea. Besides, the bacon smelled so good (I had already treated myself to a slice while preparing their plates).

“Yes, miss.”

“The second problem with you going downstairs, is we’d have call you if we wanted anything, like more orange juice or second helpings,” said Luke. “You can stand there until we finish eating, in case we need anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

After he ate a pancake, Luke said, “On second thought, you’re not burning off any calories by just standing there. Give me 50 jumping jacks.”

“Now? in my jeans? And I haven’t had any breakfast yet, sir.”

“Prof, you ask ‘now?’ way too often. When I tell you to do something, I always mean now, unless I say specifically otherwise. Don’t ever ask me that again. You’re not gonna die if you do a little bit of exercise before you have breakfast. Looks to me like you got plenty of fat on your body to sustain you through a little bit of work. You have a point, though, about the jeans. Put on a pair of those pantyhose I saw in your drawer last night.”

Brooke giggled. “Walter, put on your yellow tights.”

“Yes, miss.” I pulled out the bottom drawer of the dresser where I had moved my undergarments yesterday to make room for Luke’s underwear and socks, and pulled out the bright yellow tights. 

As I started to go into the bathroom, Luke said, “Uh-uh. We’re all friends here. You can change right here in front of us.”

“Yes, sir.” It is hard to describe how ashamed I felt undressing and then putting on a pair of tights under the watchful stare of my wife and her ex-husband. But my shame only intensified from there.

Brooke said, “Look at the way he’s putting on his tights, babe. He rolls them up his legs like he’s been doing this all his life. You don’t want to get a run in your pretty stockings, do you, Walter?“

“No, miss.”

Despite my humiliation, or perhaps because of it, I was mortified to find myself getting hard as I pulled the tights up of my legs.

“Now he looks like a proper little fairy cuck,” Luke said with a smug smirk.

“Look, he has a little stiffy,” Brooke laughed, pointing at me.

“It seems like professor cuck likes wearing women’s clothes. Well, you’re in luck, prof, you’re going to be wearing a lot more of them from now on, at least when I’m around.”

“I told you that I always make him wear panties or tights under his clothes already,” said Brooke.

“Yeah, but from now on, I only want him wearing feminine clothes in the house, not just as underwear. Now, start jumping.” Luke picked up his belt, lying on the floor next to the bed, folded it over and struck it sharply against my tights-clad bottom. Hearing Brooke’s laughter, I began jumping with enthusiasm (or, at least outwards enthusiasm, as I hated the situation that I found myself in and, as I already explained, hated exercising and was in no shape to be able to do it for long).

As I did the jumping jacks, feeling my cock bounce around in my tights as I moved, I could see my face turn a deep shade of red in the mirror over Brooke’s dresser. Whether the redness was more a consequence of my physical exertion, or my profound embarrassment, was difficult to say for sure.

As I jumped, I listened to their conversation.

“Man, I do love bacon,” said Luke.

“You always have, babe. Here you can have mine.” Brooke began feeding Luke her strips of bacon, smiling sexily as she did so. 

“I’m not sure I like all that body hair on him. It doesn’t seem right for a fairy cuck. What can we do about it?”, said Luke. 

“Well, I guess we could use a depilatory cream, but a waxing would last longer. And look better.”

“Where could he get that done?”

“There are a few spas around that will do a full body wax,” said Brooke.

“Well, you better make ab appointment soon, then, prof.”

After I finished the required 50 jumping jacks, I collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily with a pain in the side of my ribs.

“It’s pretty pathetic that you got winded after 50 measly jumping jacks. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, I guess. Get yourself some water in the bathroom and then go downstairs and get me some more bacon and orange juice,” ordered Luke.

After I came out of the bathroom, having had three glasses of water and having caught my breath somewhat, I said to Luke, “Sir, would it be okay for me to put my jeans back on to get you your bacon? Our general contractor, Ed, is supposed to be coming around this morning with the electrician to do some work in the basement. Ed has a key to the house.”

“No, you may not. I guess you just better be very careful when you go downstairs,” Luke replied. I heard Brooke snicker.

So I tried to be just that. When I went down the stairs, I listened carefully for any voices and peeked into the living room before scampering in my tights into the kitchen. Sure enough, just as I had plated the bacon and refilled Luke’s and Brooke’s glasses with orange juice, I heard the front door open and the voices of two men talking. 

I then heard Ed say to the other man, “The basement is down those stairs. I”m going to get myself a glass of water and I”ll be right down. Want anything?”

“No thanks,” said the other man, presumably the electrician.

Knowing that Ed would come into the kitchen, and that there was no other way for me to leave the room without going through a door that led out to the patio, I panicked and ran into our walk-in pantry, closing the door as quietly as I could. I listened to Ed get a glass from the cabinet and fill it up at the sink, hoping that he wouldn’t have any reason to open the pantry door.

Fortunately, he did not, and as soon as the coast was clear, I ran upstairs with the bacon and orange juice. I felt at the time that I had dodged a bullet, but again, with the benefit of hindsight, I look back on that moment with a sense of irony. It is ironic that I was so fearful of being momentarily glimpsed in my tights by the two men, given how trivial that would have been compared to the degree of public humiliation and ridicule I was subjected to in the months to come.

Standing next to the window, Luke said, “I see the workers have arrived. Did they get a chance to admire your new look yet?”

I was troubled by the word “yet,” but simply replied, “No, sir.” I was also troubled to discover that all of my anxiety about being caught notwithstanding, my erection had not subsided in the least.

“I’m sure they’ll have other opportunities. Now get down on the floor and get me 20 push-ups.”

Brooke laughed disdainfully. “I doubt he can give you ten.“

“That’s why he needs a little motivation.“ When I got down in the floor, Luke brought his belt down on my buttocks. I yelped and Brooke giggled. 

Because of the exertion, my nerves, the fear of being caught, my shame and my overall anxiety about how my life had been turned upside down over the course of the last 48 hours, I was sweating like a pig. I was prone to sweat a lot in general, but especially during moments of stress or humiliation.

Luke walked around and positioned his bare feet directly under my face, and said, “Prof, you’ll find that I’m big on accountability and on measurement. KPIs, we call them. That stands for key performance indicators. It’s a big reason I’ve been so successful in my business. I’m gonna be applying that focus to everything I expect from you. The diet, the cleaning, the exercise. I’m sure other things as well, once I think of them. We can start right now with you kissing my feet every time you lower yourself to the ground. But be careful that you don’t touch the ground completely. That would be cheating, and you’d need to be punished for that. Keep your back straight.”

“Walter, when you feel your little stiffy touch the floor, that’s when you’ll know to push yourself up again,” Brooke said, laughing.

Brooke was right. I planted 6 kisses on Luke’s right foot, before I felt my arms trembling badly. I was able to eke out two more before I face planted into Luke’s feet.

Luke said, “Okay, prof, for every push-up you fall short, you get one thrash with my belt. Right now you’ve got 12 coming. Do you think you can reduce that some?”

I was able to lower myself for two additional foot kisses before my arms pretty much gave out altogether.

“Alrighty, then. Stand up and bend over the bed.”

Luke then proceeded to thrash me vigorously ten times. 

On the fifth stroke I cried out. “Ouch.”

“Luke hits harder than I do, right?,” said Brooke, walking to the other side of the bed and looking in my eyes, smiling.

“Yes, miss. Much.”

“You’ll find that Walter is an even bigger baby when it comes to pain tolerance than he is when it comes to endurance.“

“I’m just gonna have to toughen him up all around I guess.“ And with that. Luke delivered an especially brutal stroke across my upper thighs.

Brooke, who had returned to her position behind me, said, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Teach him who’s boss, babe.”

The next stroke was even harder, if possible. My tights offered really no protection and the pain was intense. The damage to my ego was worse, however.

It was not helped when I heard them kissing behind me and Brooke say, “This is getting me hot. I need you in me again, baby. Please, now.”

And, so, after Luke administered two final strokes, I was summarily dismissed. I wanted to go back downstairs to the living room to work on my book, but I was afraid of being seen by Ed and the electrician. I was also afraid to change out of my tights, lest I encourage Luke’s wrath for being disobedient. So I instead returned to the guest bedroom room and thought about all of that had changed over the last two days, as I listened to the bedsprings bounce violently above me. This man, my wife’s ex-husband, had displaced me in my bedroom; had imposed a diet on me; had turned me into a servant, a feminized servant, in my own home; had forced me to exercise; had whipped me and forced me to kiss his feet. And he had done all of this in front of my dear wife, who appeared to be completely in thrall to him sexually. So much so that she willingly allowed herself to be degraded by him in ways I simply could not square with her strong, confident, even (when it came to me, at least) dominant character. 

I knew Brooke was a proud feminist. I was a feminist as well, and it was one of the things I respected about her. But when I heard the loud SMACKing sounds again, his hand no doubt striking her ass, I once again experienced that feeling of cognitive dissonance. 

How could I have realized at that moment that Luke’s takeover of our lives had barely even begun?