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This afternoon there was a good example of this. Irene had been chatting with Shirley, my mate Steve’s wife. Yesterday, in an unguarded moment when he and I were watching the cricket, I happened to suggest to him, jokingly, of course, that ‘marriage is what happens when dating gets out of hand’.

This afternoon, I got home to find Irene sitting at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers, impatiently on the table top. In front of her lay her brand new leather punishment strap, which I knew she’d been itching to put to the test. It’s been carefully designed and crafted for maximum effectiveness, with a dozen holes to improve its aerodynamic qualities and a wooden handle that she can grip with confidence as she wields the strap across my defenceless bottom.

She let me know that Shirley had told her about my little joke about married life. In a moment, I found myself naked from the waist down, bent over the kitchen table, being soundly thrashed for having made such a tasteless joke.

Only when she had finished and I was allowed to stand up again, did I realise that the whole procedure had been witnessed by Shirley herself, who had obviously found the experience thoroughly enjoyable.

“Well done, Irene!” She exclaimed, admiringly. “I think it’s time I took my Steve in hand like this!”

She will become extremely strict, of course; even stricter than she is already, and adept at wielding the cane for any lack of respect or rule-breaking on his part.

Naturally, he won’t be allowed to share her bed anymore. That space will be reserved for any lovers she may wish to entertain.

A buzz of whispering goes around the class; but there’s no reply from the boy himself, who fiddles nervously with the pens in his top pocket.

“He seems to have rather a short memory; doesn’t he, class? Would someone like to remind him?”

A forest of hands goes up. The rest of the class holds its breath. They’ve been looking forward to this lazy, arrogant boy getting his comeuppance, which now seems certain to happen in the next few minutes. Miss Atkinson looks around the room at the eager young faces in front of her.

“Becky.” The teacher’s roving gaze comes to a halt at a pretty girl in the front row. “Can you tell Stephenson what I said would happen to him, if he didn’t hand in his homework this time?”

“Yes, Miss. You said you’d be giving him the cane.”

“Well done, Becky! Yes, that is indeed what I said.”

Miss Atkinson turns towards the stationary cupboard set into the wall near the blackboard. Her high heels clack clack across the parquet flooring. Everyone holds their breath. In a moment she returns, holding a traditional style school cane.

“Actually, “ Miss Atkinson continues. “I remember that I went further than that. I told him, he’d be getting six of the best!”

She flexes her cane, with relish. She’s known to wield it with skill and enthusiasm, so her pupils usually take care not to cross her. It’s not often she gets the chance to cane a naughty boy and remind everyone what her reputation’s based on and why she’s such a role model for her female pupils.

Stephenson’s face is now as red as we can all imagine his bottom’s going to be, in the near future. Everyone turns to stare at him. He looks down, to avoid their eyes.

I could hardly deny the truth of what she was saying. I know very well that I’m more polite as well as more obedient these days. Some of her friends have even remarked on this. Embarrassingly, from my point of view, she’s quite open with them about what’s brought about these improvements, which amuses them no end and gives rise to a lot of ribald commentary aimed at me.

“Did you just call me Mistress, young man?”

She grinned, like this was a huge joke.

I could only nod; shyly looking down, to avoid her penetrating stare. Then she said, in a more serious tone of voice:

“Yes. I’ll see you again; but there’s a condition.”

My heart leapt.

“A condition? ” I asked, hardly daring to believe what I’d just heard. “Anything! Anything at all.”

Mistress had left me in the care of her bull Julian for the day, while she went up to town for a girls-only outing with a raucous group of female friends.

As soon as he had me to himself, Julian began telling me how pretty I was and making suggestions to me about what he wanted to do to me, now that we were on our own. He started sliding his hand under my petticoats, fondling my bottom through the silky fabric of my panties and so on.

I didn’t mean to be unfaithful to Mistress, but his behaviour was making me hot under the collar. I tried pushing his hand away, but really, I didn’t want him to stop. Soon, I was leaning into his caresses. I just couldn’t help myself. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, anyway.

There’s a limit to how far I can stray, because Mistress keeps me locked in chastity. But of course, there are other avenues…..

He soon found my cage. I was afraid it would make him angry with me, but he said he knew all about it and that it made no difference to him; my mouth and my bottom would do nicely, thank you. He helped himself to them liberally for the next few hours, after which I was quite sore ‘down there’.

Before leaving, he started talking about this friend of his he wanted to introduce me to and he asked me if I’d ever been ‘spit roasted’. I had no idea what he was talking about, so he had to explain it to me. I must admit that hearing about it made me tingle all over.

After he left, I felt guilty about what we’d been doing. I’d betrayed my Mistress. But the fact is, I’d had a wonderful time.

I decided I’d better make a clean breast of what I’d been up to, when Mistress got back, and confess all. But I was terribly worried about how she would react to my news. Would she throw me out? I couldn’t bear that, but I couldn’t contemplate living a lie, especially as Julian would be around a lot, being her bull and so on.

I tried to find the words to confess. I must have looked terribly guilty, because she started interrogating me:

“What on earth have you done, Sissy?” She demanded, looking like she was fearing the worst, whatever that might be.

When I eventually got the words out, she laughed her head off.

“Is that all, Sissy?” She asked. “I’m so relieved! I thought you must have done something bad!”

Of course, as he belongs to her, in the most literal sense, she can use him for whatever she wants. So, if she wants a tongue between her thighs for a happy hour or two, she doesn’t have to go through the tiresome business of searching for a suitable male and maintaining a relationship with him, with all the hassle that goes with having to deal with some bloke who wants to be consulted about everything & to have his ego stroked, etc.

“He’s very highly sexed and I don’t always have the energy to meet his needs. That’s why it’s so useful to me, that you’ve turned into such a pretty little maid. He’s bound to want to get into your knickers, whatever you’ve got hidden away inside them!

There can be compensations for him, however. There are ways a sissy former husband can become the centre of attention, which his Mistress may actively encourage, or even demand of him.

But he’s got to allow her to dress him up to look the part and to coach him in how to behave when a Real Man comes to call.

Something he’s always been curious about, is whether, dolled up to the nines with smooth, shaved legs, showing off his neat little bum in frilly knickers and a dress as short as the one in the picture, he could make himself irresistibly attractive to a Real Man, especially if he curtseys properly, flutters his false eyelashes and wiggles his bottom at him.