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Dear Auntie Helga, They say things happen in threes, well they sure did. First my wife died, she had caught something nasty in India and it took all her strength and she finally succumbed. We had a reasonably happy marriage, but due to her poorly condition in the later years I took over the cooking, washing, ironing etc but thought nothing of it. Sex was nonexistent but I did not miss it, I suppose it was because I was so busy. I worked at a leading charity in London, I had had the same male boss since I started there, and he had been with the organisation for nearly 40 years. He let me get on with my job in the cost accounts department, he then retired and they appointed from outside a go getting young woman. She was about 30, very businesslike, very smart and savvy. She had a slight American accent. Over the course of a few years, most of the males in the Accounting Department left and were replaced with women who had either returned to work after having children or were divorced. The rest of the guys in other departments, who I used to meet up with in the canteen called them and her "The Charlie's Angels" it was supposed to be clever male humour, they were proper Charlie's. ie: did not know much and they had female appendages. She was no Charlie she was bright, articulate, savvy and very attractive. As I had been in cost accounts for longest, I was situated on the top floor in a small office on my own, which is just how I liked it. On the floor below me, were six females, doing various jobs. The company then decided to install a "SAPS" system, it was American and very complicated, one could have as many as six screens on the PC at once. I was all at sixes and sevens and being just over 50, I could not pick it up. We were given training but I could not get the hang of it. Some of the other girls were very helpful and tried to help me, but I was hopeless. They realised this and would input for me, if I would write their difficult business letters, which I was good at. Everything was going along O/K until I was called to "Madams" office (I will not give her a name just in case) her office was spacious, beautifully furnished, fresh flowers and an enormous desk. Outside her office sat her female personal secretary, acting as the "Gate Guardian" I was ushered in and not offered a seat, very strange I thought. Her Ladyship said I will not beat about the bush John but your standard of work is awful and you are making lots of mistakes and costing the charity a lot of income which can be spent on deserving causes. I do not like it and I am going to give you a written warning and replace you with a woman, I will then have the kind of staff that I want! I think because of all that had occurred in the last month or so this was the final straw. I started to cry and sank to my knees, I blurted out, please please do not sack me, I will do anything to avoid that. She then showed me the only real act of kindness that she has ever shown me. She came around from behind her desk, helped me to my feet and led me over to the settee, sat me down, sat beside me and said "I will try to help you but I must tell you that I do not like men" (I was to find out later why, evidently she was a real Daddy's girl, lived on Long Island and had a charmed childhood. She started work in New York City and within a few months was involved with one of the young partners, they married very quickly, against her father's advice, after a honeymoon in Bermuda, they returned only for the new husband to tell her that he did not love her. The shame and hurt can only be imagined. Her father arranged for her to come to London and bought her an apartment) She worked hard and had got to the position she now held, a very good salary, company car, pension, foreign travel and most important female staff working for her. She was certainly not a lesbian; she had learned a very hard lesson and was not going to be placed in that position again by a young man. Madam had got back herself respect and was not going to be beholden to any male; in fact she had decided that she would always hold the upper hand from now on in any of her dealings with men. Even though I was old, I could see how attractive she was, always beautifully turned out in business suits, white starched blouses, immaculate shiny black heels (not too high) and her hair black hair in a business like bun. A large mouth with voluptuous lips, about 5' 7" tall, with a shapely figure. Any man's dream girl. She said to me that I was to come to her apartment at 9am on Saturday, she would tidy up my work for me and I could do some "men's" jobs for her. She instructed me in no uncertain terms that I was not to discuss with any third party our arrangement or it would be instant dismissal. I arrived, she said he was going shopping in the West End and she had a list of jobs for me, just the mundane, cleaning her car, putting the rubbish out etc. I went each Saturday; she either went to the Gym, lunching with girl friends or her favourite, shopping. In the end I was doing the food shopping, including getting her personal requisites like sanitary towels, the pill, condoms etc. After a few months of me even going on a Sunday and two nights each week, I was doing everything including washing, ironing, housework, cleaning the bath, toilet, bidet etc. She called me into her office one morning and said that she had spoken to the directors and they were willing to offer me favourable redundancy terms with a pension. The lump sum was tempting but I did not want to give up work and said so. My boss said you have more than enough to do looking after me, you will do exactly as I tell you, you will resign, I will use your redundancy money to buy a bigger apartment, you can have your own bedroom next to mine and it can be a full time job for you. No more commuting, no more stress. The upshot was that I said "Yes" the thought of being a kept man after all my trials and tribulations appealed. Madam made all the arrangements with the company; I had a splendid retirement party. I moved in, my room is very small, painted white, austere, no window, a single bed with a wardrobe, no carpet, no pictures, a bit like a medieval monk's cell. (With a lock on the door outside) Madam told me that in future I was to refer to her as Mistress or Miss. I have to rise at 6-30am, prepare her breakfast, run her bath, switch "SKY TV" on so she can catch up with the news. Lay her clothes out, including underwear, all of which I hand wash and iron; put her briefcase by the front door. During the day, I do all the menial tasks, cleaning, mending, ironing, making her bed etc. When she returns home, I have to have showered, be wearing my "uniform" which is a "Pink Soft Tulip Nightshirt". It is a button-front nightshirt, which has a small decorative pocket, self covered buttons and a side split at the hem, it is beautifully made and is 50% cotton. I have a range of colours. She comes in, sits down, I hand her a small glass of Pinot Grigio and she tells me about her day. She then showers and changes, I take her dirty underclothes and blouse to the wash room. I serve her dinner. The crux of the whole affair is that she now calls me Sue (after a boy called Sue, the famous song by Johnnie Cash) I am completely in her thrall, I have no money of my own, she looks after it, including my pension. She is changing my name by deed poll, so that I have the same surname as hers, she said this will make it easier for me to accompany her on holiday, deal with doctors for her etc. I don't really want to be called Sue on my documents but she said she will have it spelt as "Sioux" and if questioned I can say it's an "American" thing, like Cheyenne Brando. She does not ridicule me in company and treats me with respect outside the home. The one thing I hate is that she will bring a young black man home for sex on occasions. There are dozens in London from Nigeria, Uganda, and Kenya etc. (It will never be one from the States she says because of the accent, it would remind her of her ex husband, who she still hates.) I have to stay in my room and pretend I am not there, at least she does not lock me in, I presume that is for her safety? They never stay for long, it just seems that she wants her female sexual appetite satiated; she pays them so she is under no obligation. I dream that she would ask me to do it for her but I know she will not. It's a strange life but I do love being with her, I would do anything for her and I do. She is my mistress and I obey her implicitly, I do not want to upset her or have her tell me to leave. I suppose in a way I am like a helpless slave, sometimes if I have not pleased her 100% she will punish me, even that I don't mind, If she has been upset at work by one of her female staff, she makes me apologise over and over for my misdemeanours, it's like roll play. I have to remove my beautiful nightdress and put my "punishment" knickers on, which my mistress and owner brought back from a business trip to "LA" they are "L'Atelier Parisian Ouvert Bloomers" evidently 16th century France was the inspiration for these racy open back bloomers. The bloomer legs have stylish fluting; they are vintage red in colour. I a 50 year old man., look positively ridiculous in them. She then calls and I have to attend her, all evening she will have me running about, get a drink, getting her tea, go and bring tomorrows lingerie for me, then she will throw it at me, she will order me to get the ironing board out, then she threatens to throw me out, only when I start crying and apologise over and over again does she relent. She has given me a beautiful black and white photograph of herself and inscribed it "TO SUE, MY SERVANT, MY SLAVE, MY OWN, TO DO WITH AS I WISH" I have it in my little bedroom on a white table, it's like a shrine to her. I admit that I kneel in front of it before I get in bed and thank her from the bottom of my soul for allowing me to be her servant, slave and admirer. I LOVE HER SO I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HER, even debase myself. She is so strict with me, does not allow me to make the slightest mistake but that I believe his her strength and why I love her so. Regards, Sue Thank you for your letter Sue. I'm sure many men can relate to your experience and many more wish they had the relationship you do. Auntie Helga |