To re-cap what's happened, it's a Friday evening and Simon's currently outside Emma's house, totally distraught. Emma had been his girlfriend and a month earlier she had discovered that he had been abusing her underwear and had persuaded him that he needed to be punished in a way that might cure him of his perversion. This had involved him wearing items of female apparel around the clock for four weeks, including discreetly at work. Sarah, a co-worker of Simon, who was a previous girlfriend of his and one who was aware of his obsession with lingerie, had jumped at Emma's request that she act as an enforcer while Simon was in the office and she had taken her duties very seriously, to Simon's cost.

Simon had obediently accepted his punishment, and the humiliation it entailed, in the belief that once the four weeks were over he and Emma would make up and he would be forgiven. Unfortunately, this had been a misunderstanding on his part--or, far more likely, a cruel and calculated deception on her part, and when he arrived home from work on that Friday evening he discovered that Emma had dumped all his belongings in a rubbish skip outside her house and changed the door locks. As far as she was concerned, they were finished, and she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Being a Friday evening, his prospects looked bleak. The skip was due to be collected on Monday and Emma had taken unnecessary delight in warning him that Saturday might bring rain. What's more, he had no money as Emma had insisted a month earlier that he cut up his bank cards and cheques, and the banks were closed until Monday. And he was still cursing himself that he had always rejected online banking in the belief that it posed a security risk, but this now meant that he didn't even have a backup way of making payments.

And if all this wasn't enough, he was wearing a business suit, buttoned up to obscure the white feminine blouse he was wearing which, in turn, hid his lingerie. Just as he wondered if things could get any worse he noticed his phone was nearly out of charge.

He was sitting on the low garden wall of Emma's house to protect his possessions from potential raids by dumpster divers. For a brief moment, he had considered banging again on her door to appeal to her one last time, but common sense prevailed and he simply sat there seething with anger at how she had ejected him from her life. As far as he was concerned, she had betrayed him, leading him to believe that if he endured his humiliating punishment for four weeks, then they would rebuild their relationship. It was now blatantly clear to him that she had never planned to do this and her sole intent had been to punish him in the worst way possible.

Sure, he had violated her trust by messing with her underwear, but did that justify the draconian measures she had taken? Could she not have understood that his penchant for lingerie possibly required help, not punishment? One day, perhaps, he would exact his revenge on her but now he had to focus all his efforts on climbing out of the deep crevasse into which he had slipped--or rather been pushed.

Brooding, he sat staring at Sarah's number on his phone, aware of the battery draining away. Sarah now seemed to be his only hope, but would she lend a helping hand? After all, she had been just as cruel to him as Emma had, more so perhaps. As well as tormenting him in the office, she was always quick to land him in trouble by reporting minor problems to Emma, resulting in him spending many hours in the kitchen corner. And it was Sarah who had once struck him across the face and suggested to Emma that he should be caned.

However, whilst Emma had been focussed on dishing out punishment for the sake of punishment, he'd deduced that Sarah was gaining sadistic pleasure from humiliating him, and he was certain she was becoming aroused by seeing him being shamed and humiliated. So while Emma took an almost clinically detached approach to her mission, Sarah relished her role, no more so than during the sessions in the filing room, where her nipples had become erect and her pupils dilated. Maybe if he could appeal to these base instincts, then Sarah might be willing to give him shelter for a couple of days, at the cost of having more fun at his expense.

Of course, he realised that he might be jumping from the frying pan into the fire but he couldn't see what he had to lose apart from having to put up with some further humiliation and possibly punishment. If he could only survive until Monday then he could escape Sarah's clutches, come up with a Plan B and get his life back together.

In despair, he kept staring at his phone, daring himself to ring Sarah's number. He felt he had one chance to convince her to help and if he failed, then all was lost. Eventually, he closed his eyes, said a little prayer and pressed the button, aware that sweat was running down his back. It took several anxiety-inducing rings before she answered. She recognised his number, as he could tell from her abrupt opening remark. "What?" she spat out.

"Oh, hello Sarah. It's Simon," he said softly, struggling to keep emotion out of his voice.

"Simon?" she queried, "Simon? I don't know anyone called Simon. I know a Simone though. Is that Simone, by chance?"

He felt a surge of anger, but knew he had to keep calm. "Er .. yes, Sarah, this is Simone. Emma has dumped me. I've lost every..."

"Oh, that's sad, but thanks for letting me know, Simone. See you in the office on Monday!" With that, she ended the call. He was panicking now and his fingers trembled as he re-dialled. Deep down, he reckoned he'd blown his one and only chance. He didn't think she would answer but, to his amazement, she did.

"What now?" she asked impatiently.

"Erm ... it's ... it's ... er ... Simone again, Sarah." He could imagine her glee as he introduced himself with the feminine name she'd bestowed on him.

"Now what do you want, Simone? You've told me you've been dumped, but so what? What did you expect to happen after the way you behaved?"

He resisted the urge to argue that he had been unjustly treated as it would carry no weight with Sarah. Instead, he said, "I need your help--please, Sarah."

"Uh?"

"Emma has put all my belongings in black bags and they're in a skip ... no, Sarah, please don't laugh--it's not funny. Please help me. I need somewhere to store the bags and, and I've got no money."

She sniggered. "Yeah, I remember Emma saying you'd cut up your cards. That was a damn stupid thing to do, wasn't it?"

He had to butter her up if he was to get her help. "Yes, Sarah, it was very silly of me. It's left me with no way of paying for anything. The banks are closed."

"Hmmm. You've dug yourself in a proper hole, Simone. You must have some friends who will take pity on you?"

He knew that she would have worked out that involving a fourth person in this ring of sordid secrecy was out of the question. "I don't want anyone else to know, Sarah," he commented.

"Know what? That you've been dumped by Emma? No shame in that as long as the truth doesn't come out." She was being deliberately obtuse, but he had to stay patient with her.

"No! I mean I don't want anyone else to know what I'm wearing, underwear-wise."

"Oh! Why not get changed?"

"Emma threw out a lot of my male clothes at the start of my punishment and I don't know what I've got left. And besides I'm in the street guarding the skip against thieves. I've no money and nowhere to store my stuff. Please, Sarah, please help me. I did everything you asked me during the past four weeks. It's just for this weekend. Please take pity on me for old times' sake."

She snorted, "Old times' sake! You must be joking."

"You know I'm sorry for what I did, Sarah," he pleaded.

"Sorry I caught you, you mean--like Emma caught you."

She was comparing apples with oranges as the two circumstances were not the same, but this was not the time to point this out. "My phone battery's almost dead, Sarah. Please help me. I'll, er, I'll do anything you want if you just help me. Please!"

"Anything, you say? What do you mean by that?"

He sensed she was taking the bait. "Well, literally anything, Sarah. I could, er, I could do chores around the house. Or, er, I could do gardening or I could decorate."

"Hmmmm. What's in it for me?"

Surely she could see that she was getting off from doing the work herself or paying someone else to do it, but he had to play along. "You could take it easy, Sarah, having a lazy weekend while I do all the grafting. You could read a book or watch tele while I work my butt off."

"Hmmmm. You mean like I would have my own servant attending to my every need?"

Had she bitten? "Yes!" he replied. "Exactly like that. You would be the boss and if I didn't do what you wanted, to the standards you set, then you would be entitled to, er, to punish me." Surely inviting her to punish him if he failed to meet her expectations was an offer she couldn't refuse. He felt certain she must be getting damp just thinking what she could do to him. Even a caning might be on the cards. And strangely, despite inviting possible pain, the thought of Sarah punishing him caused a frisson of excitement to ripple through his body, despite the wretched predicament he was in. It even occurred to him that some men would pay enormous sums of money to spend a weekend in the care of this wannabe-dominatrix, if that's what turning her on nowadays.

She paused, and he sensed the cogwheels turning in her brain. "Ummm. I like the idea of having a slave but how could I trust you, Simone? A weekend wouldn't be long enough to decorate the whole house and landscape the garden. Come Monday, when the banks open, you could stick up two fingers and be gone. You'd have used me and I wouldn't be happy with that. Not happy at all."

She'd made a good point. In fact, she had described his exact plan to the letter—a weekend of hard work linked most likely to humiliation and punishment, and then he would be off. "I promise I wouldn't do that, Sarah. You have to trust me--please!" he lied. He didn't like telling lies but these were desperate times.

"But I don't trust you. That's why I kicked you out last time."

He recognised that she held the trump cards, so some negotiation was needed. She just had to believe that he would stay with her for more than a weekend. "I promise I will work for you for a whole month? How does that sound?"

"Only a month?" she responded, sounding surprised. "Uh! I don't think so!" she added adamantly. She paused to think. "I know! I'll come and pick you up but I'll bring pen and paper. Before I bring you back to my place, you're going to write an undated letter of resignation to Vicky Deacon, our manager. You'll say that you regret having an office liaison with me and you think it best that you seek employment elsewhere. I will keep the letter safe as an insurance policy until you've worked for me for twelve months. Is this understood, Simone?"

This came as a bombshell to Simon. The job market was not good at the present time and the thought of being unemployed for weeks or months was terrifying. What she was proposing might even amount to blackmail, but he wasn't going to make an utter fool of himself reporting it to the police. Basically, he could see no alternative other than to agree to her demands and hope to wheedle out of it sooner rather than later. He had to fight this current battle and worry about next week's battle when it came. Besides, despite how she had been treating him for the past month, he still had some feelings for Sarah--the delectably beautiful Sarah--and the way she had behaved towards him during the past month had sometimes aroused them both. Was it possible, he wondered, that living together as 'mistress and servant' might rekindle something between them? Could this have a happy ending with them sharing a bed again?

"I agree with what you suggest, Sarah," he replied after a few moments of hesitation. "Thank you so much."

He sensed she was pleased, and that she wasn't doing this as a favour for him, but rather that she intended to get personal enjoyment from it. This was confirmed when she replied, "Good decision, Simone, but if you're working for me you can't keep calling me Sarah. Where's the respect? From now on, it's Miss Jones to you. OK?"

"Yes, Miss Jones," he replied, unsure whether to feel dejected or ecstatic. "See you shortly, Miss."

She closed the call, and he waited patiently for her to arrive, wondering if Emma might be secretly watching proceedings from her house. However, he had no intention of turning around to check and giving her further delight at the mess he was in. It was thirty minutes before Sarah arrived, and he jumped up from the wall to open her car door. "Thank you so much, Sarah," he gushed with delight. She gave him a withering look, causing him to change what he said. "Sorry, I meant to say Miss Jones. Thank you for coming, Miss Jones. You won't regret it."

Sarah looked in the skip and then looked at her Mini Cooper. "How the hell did you think this lot was going to fit in there?" she asked.

He hadn't thought of that, despite knowing what model car she drove. "Sorry, Miss Jones," he pathetically replied.

"It'll take two journeys, you moron. Put as much as you can in the car and then wait here while I drop it off and come back for you and the rest. In the meantime, write out your letter of resignation. Make it sincere and take all the blame!" She handed him pen and paper and he sat on the wall, composing what he knew was a dangerous letter. It took a couple of attempts to get it right, or as right as it could be.

Dear Ms Deacon, I am writing to inform you that I must resign with immediate effect. I realise, belatedly, that my affair with Sarah Jones has got out of hand. As you have wisely pointed out, it has proved a distraction that has affected my concentration and productivity, so-much-so that you've rightly given me a written warning. Luckily, while this affair has gone to my head, Sarah has somehow kept hers and has continued to work as hard and as diligently as always. The last thing I wish to happen is that Sarah becomes as starstruck as I am, meaning you have two poorly performing members of staff in your department. I therefore tender my resignation. Thank you for your understanding and for being such a good manager. Yours sincerely, Simon Smith.

After signing off, he looked at his watch. Thirty minutes had passed and Sarah should be back any time. But then an hour passed, and then two hours. Was she coming back? Had she gone off with half of his possessions, never to return? If so, which half? A feel of the bags in the skip told him he was left with stuff like DVDs and books, no use whatsoever for the impending weekend.

His fears grew as time passed and his phone was now dead, so he couldn't even check that she'd not had an accident. He was at a loss knowing what to do when, after an unbelievable (and probably engineered) two-and-a-half hours, her car came into view again. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and for the first time since discovering Emma's duplicitous act; he saw light at the end of the tunnel. She was quick to take his letter from him and after reading what it said; she gave him a smug smile, which told him his fate was sealed. "Come on, stop dawdling and get those bags into the car." Hastily, he did so, then Sarah slipped into the driver's seat and he squeezed himself into the passenger side. Then they were off!

For a couple of minutes, Sarah said nothing, concentrating instead on the late-night traffic in the town centre. Then she gave a grin before saying, "I hope you're not expecting an easy time because I've learnt a few tricks since you lived with me five years ago. I've had a lot more experience dealing with refractory men—and women, for that matter. I'm older and wiser!" She took a hand off the steering wheel and ominously tapped her nose and then licked her lips while smirking. Simon didn't answer, but he must have wondered what he was letting himself in for.