That evening, after dinner, Simon and Emma watched a film together until bedtime. Occasionally they held hands but never more than hands. It was at bedtime that Simon discovered that he was no longer to share Emma's bed. "We need to get this four weeks out of the way," she had explained. "I just wouldn't feel comfortable sharing a bed with someone in a nightie, wearing knickers and a bra. It would be like sharing a bed with another woman. You do understand, darling?"

He wasn't happy to be kicked out of the double bed yet it wasn't a big surprise. Maybe in a few days she would come around to the idea of them sharing again, he thought, but it was not to be and he spent the entire four weeks in the spare room.

To give a day-by-day account of what happened over those four weeks would bore the reader. All the same, the reader must understand the intense pressure that he was under during that period, so I will describe some of what happened so that the reader can share his discomfort and begin to appreciate his problems.

Simon found that being in the office was an awful ordeal. At all times, he had to keep his suit jacket on and buttoned up. This raised some queries from his workmates, who were used to seeing him in shirt sleeves. But Simon knew that just the act of unbuttoning his jacket could reveal the feminine cut of his blouse and its vertical pleats. What's more, he knew that the camisole covering his bra was visible through the thin cotton of his blouse and no way could it be mistaken for a man's singlet. Also, despite Emma's assurances that without fillers his bra would compress, its moulded construction gave it a natural springiness and it only compressed when subjected to some gentle pressure. This pressure had to be provided by keeping his jacket buttoned at all times.

He also knew that he had to be very careful when bending down not to stretch his jacket across his back because he was sure that his more inquisitive colleagues would soon detect the outline of his bra straps. His pantyhose also presented a problem and he had to teach himself to avoid sitting in a way that would expose his ankles to view. And, never for one moment, could he forget he was wearing a bra, such was the tightness of the garment around his chest. Emma required him to wear a bra almost twenty-four hours a day, the only exception being during his shower each morning. When he did take his bra off, he was always amazed at the redness and prominence of his strap marks and wondered how long they would take to resolve once his four-week punishment was over. He had come to understand why girls were often so anxious to remove their bras at the end of the day and why he had never yet met one who slept in her bra. In the office, he had to continually control his desire to tinker with his bra straps to provide some temporary relief from the pressure.

And to compound his problems, having to wear a camisole and pantyhose, as well as a buttoned-up jacket, made him feel hot and sweaty. He told his puzzled colleagues that he was suffering from a virus which made him feel cold but feverish. Whether they believed him was a matter of conjecture, but it certainly meant that most of them played safe and kept their distance from him as a precaution in case he passed something on.

Because of all these issues, Simon was uncomfortable at all times and didn't suffer from the intense arousal problems that he always encountered when crossdressing in private. The pressures he faced made it difficult for him to concentrate on his work and twice he was reprimanded by his boss for mistakes she had found.

He was fortunate to have his own office which was entered from the typing pool. At least when the door was closed he could relax a little although he always had to be on guard for someone entering without knocking--or even someone entering after knocking. One person who always entered unannounced was Sarah who had been asked by Emma to do periodic checks on Simon. Usually, she would invade his sanctuary leaving the door wide open. He would be sitting facing the door and she would then move behind and rub her fingers gently across his back. This brought giggles and whispers from the typing pool who put a romantic interpretation on this gesture but Simon knew that all Sarah was doing was feeling for his bra and camisole straps. She would then discreetly pull up a trouser leg to confirm that he was still wearing his pantyhose.

Two or three times a day Sarah would carry out these routine checks, but two or three times a week she went further and would summon him to the filing room. Having checked they were alone, she would lock the door from the inside and issue her instructions.

"Right, Simone," she might say, feminising his name, "Take off your jacket and tie and then unbutton your blouse." Simon would do so immediately, knowing the consequences of the slightest hesitation. However, even after practice, the 'wrong-sided' buttons on his girl's top still caused him to fumble. "Quickly, we don't have all day, Simone," she would hiss. Then, when he was standing there exposing his camisole, she would say, "Are you still wearing your bra? Lift up your camisole so I can see." He so wanted to say to her that it was self-evident he was wearing his bra, but he knew that he had no choice but to follow her instructions. With his camisole raised, she would then put her fingers under his bra straps, checking for tightness, and sometimes tweaking a nipple.

"Right, camisole down and then trousers down, Simone," she would order emphasising his new name. Without delay, he would do as he was told and stand before her revealing his pantyhose over his pink panties. Unlike when he was in his office, the privacy of being alone with Sarah in a locked room, and her humiliating tone of voice and choice of words, usually turned him on and he would find himself embarrassed at showing excited signs of arousal in her presence. For her part, she would always pretend to ignore what she saw but, in reality, she undoubtedly found humiliating Simon in this sadistic way was also a turn-on for her. Simon couldn't help but notice that as she tormented him her nipples would become erect and press themselves against her bra.

"Simone, lower your tights to your knees so that I can check your pantyliner," was the next command. Sometimes, she would just feel it through his panties but other times she would demand he lowered his panties to show that it was properly in place. She would then take the opportunity to check that he was keeping himself hairless and his landing strip neatly trimmed. If it was after four o'clock he would be required to produce his old pantyliner from his jacket pocket as proof that he had changed it as required. It was very degrading but also an embarrassing turn-on for Simon. As she conducted her checks, Sarah would often look up at him and he would see that her pupils had become dilated, betraying her own excitement as she witnessed his subjugation and blind obedience to her commands.

Once satisfied that all was in order, Sarah would say something like, "Good girl, Simone. You may get dressed now." She would then immediately unlock the door and leave the room forcing Simon to hobble over as fast as he could, with his pantyhose around his knees, to relock the door before someone else entered. Any tumescence he had experienced with Sarah would rapidly disappear as his stress levels shot through the roof. Breathing heavily, he would get dressed and go back to his office, aware of the stares and whispers from the girls in the typing pool. In the fourth week, he was called into his manager's office and Ms Deacon gave him a written warning that he was to desist from carrying out an affair in the office and during working hours. One more warning and he would be sacked, she told him.

Sarah would look for any reason she could to get Simon into trouble and, if there was no reason, she sometimes made one up. Almost every day Emma received one or more text messages from Sarah with cryptic messages such as "S grumpy today" or "S had button undone" or "S very excited". On arriving home, Emma would dispense summary justice based on what she had read and was never interested in hearing Simon's side. Most evenings he would spend at least an hour doing corner time, stripped down to his underwear, and usually in the kitchen where she could keep an eye on him.

One evening, he had been in the corner for about thirty minutes when the doorbell rang. He immediately tensed as Emma warned him, "Don't you dare move!" She went to the front door and he heard muffled voices which became louder. Then he heard Emma say, "Yes, he's in here." He found himself trembling and Emma walked into the kitchen accompanied by someone. So frightened was he that he couldn't help but release some urine from his bladder. It wasn't much, but it soaked his pantyliner and drenched the front of his panties.

"What's he doing standing there?" a voice asked--a voice which he now recognised to be Sarah's. He relaxed a little because at least it wasn't a complete stranger.

"He's being punished, Sarah," explained Emma. "I'm exercising zero tolerance and he gets punished like this whenever you send me a text to say he's misbehaved."

"That's good to know. How long does he have to stand there for?" enquired Sarah.

"Tonight it's for one hour but it can be longer or shorter, depending on how well-behaved he's been."

"Well, it must be working because I've noticed that he's getting quicker when I tell him to do something. Do you think he knows how pathetic he looks, dressed like a girl and being punished like a child?"

"Who knows? But even better, here at home he has to wear breast forms."

"Really! I'd love to see but I don't want to interrupt his punishment."

"Don't worry, Sarah, I can always reset the clock and make him start again. Turn around darling so that Sarah can see your girlie boobs."

Reluctantly, and with trepidation, Simon turned around. Both girls immediately noticed the wet patch on the front of his panties.

"Oh my God," exclaimed Emma. "He's wet himself. I do apologise, Sarah. He's not done that before!"

"Either that or he's jerked off," Sarah responded.

"Which is, Simon?" asked Emma.

He swallowed hard and replied, in a quiet voice, "Sorry, Emma, I ... I wet myself. I couldn't help it when I heard you coming into the kitchen with someone."

"You dirty girl," screamed Sarah, and she stepped forward and slapped him across the face so hard that he nearly fell over. As he tried to recover his balance he once again sensed that Sarah was gaining pleasure at his expense.

"Hold on, Sarah," said Emma, "I can deal with this."

"You won't let her get away with that, will you?"

"No," replied Emma, her voice very solemn as if she was extremely disappointed with Simon. "How could you do that, Simon? It's only seven o'clock but you can go straight to bed without any dinner--lights out straight away. Keep those knickers and tights on and don't wear your nightie. You can spend an uncomfortable night sleeping in your mess. You can repeat this corner time tomorrow evening--doubled as an extra punishment. Go and get out of my sight!"

"Is that all you're going to do?" asked Sarah in an incredulous tone as Simon walked out of the kitchen with his tail between his legs. "I'd have caned his backside if I were you. I'll do it for you if you want. Have you got something I can hit him with?"

"No, Sarah," replied Emma, firmly, "That's not my style. I prefer psychological punishments rather than physical violence. He's suffering, don't worry."

And so his punishment continued, relentlessly, day after day, as he completed his four weeks. Office hours were filled with persistent stress, with Simon always expecting his secret to be revealed at any time. Weekday evenings seemed to be largely consumed by corner time punishments for trivial offences, or else helping Emma with the domestic chores. Only at weekends could he relax and, even then, he effectively grounded himself because he had no desire to go out in public wearing his breast forms. He was rather relieved that Emma didn't insist on this.

Perhaps Emma was right when she had explained to him that the continual wearing of female underclothing would become so second nature that he would no longer become turned on. During weekdays, particularly when in the office, he was so on edge that he seldom became aroused despite always being aware of his feminised status. In fact, it took the combination of his lingerie and verbal humiliation from Emma or Sarah to produce any response. Only at weekends, when he was alone in the privacy of his home, could he relax and enjoy the pleasure of his lingerie but even then there were times when he wished he took take it off and become a "real" man again, able to go to the pub with his friends or join in a game of football.

Emma provided encouragement throughout, interspersing discipline with praise, telling him how well he was doing when he made no mistakes. Once he'd passed the halfway point, she started to count down the time saying something like, "Only two weeks to go, darling." Then it was only one week and then it was into counting days. "You're doing very well and there's only four days to go before your punishment is over."

Eventually, Friday came, the last day of his punishment. Emma inspected him as he got ready for work. "Not long now, darling. When you get home from work your ordeal will be over. You'll have served your sentence and we can put your past mistakes behind us. You will have a clean slate. How does that make you feel, darling?"

"Wonderful!" he replied, feeling a sense of relief. "Absolutely wonderful!"

And so he completed his last day at work, with Sarah still carrying out her routine checks. He saw her sending a text, presumably to Emma, and wanted to tell her that she was wasting her time. By six o'clock it would all be over--no more corner time and no more being forced to wear feminine clothing to work.

As he got off the bus and walked the 200 yards to Emma's house he felt a big burden was being lifted off him. He couldn't wait to get back into Emma's bed and make love to her. It had been a month and he was sure she must be as desperate as he was.

He turned the corner and saw the house ahead. But outside the house, in the front garden, was a yellow container. As he got closer, he saw it was a rubbish skip and it must have been delivered that day. As he got closer still, he was shocked to see it was half-full of black plastic bags. Panic started to set in and he desperately clawed at one of the bags to see what was inside. It was full of DVDs--his DVDs! He tore open another bag, which he found contained his spare suits and his shoes. A third bag contained his book collection. Unable to take in what was happening, he rushed to the front door, pulling his key from his pocket as he went. He fumbled as he tried to insert the key into the lock. It only went in halfway and wouldn't turn. Slowly, he realised the lock had been changed. Overcoming a wave of nausea, he started banging heavily on the door, crying out for Emma. After a couple of minutes, the door opened slowly by just a few inches, held in place by a security chain. Emma peered through the gap.

"What the hell's happening?" shouted Simon. "What are you doing?"

Emma adopted a puzzled expression. "It's the new start I promised you, darling. Don't you remember?"

"WHAT? What the hell are you talking about!?"

"Your punishment has been completed and the slate is wiped clean, darling. We are now both free to start our lives again."

"But you said that after four weeks all would be forgiven and we would start afresh?"

"No, I think you must have misunderstood me, darling. At no time did I ever say that you could live with me again."

"You're kicking me out?" he screamed. "But why didn't you just kick me out in the first place. Why put me through this ordeal, you bitch?"

"Do calm down, darling, that it is not a nice way of talking. That sort of language won't help at all, will it? If you recall, I did want to kick you out. I even offered to pack your bags for you, but you made it clear that you would rather be punished first."

"You never said that you were going to kick me out anyway! Why didn't you tell me that?" He was beside himself with fury at her.

"As I said, darling, you misunderstood what I said. Or perhaps you interpreted what I said in the way you wanted to? You heard what you wanted to hear."

"What the hell am I going to do now, you f*****g bitch? You've put all my stuff in the skip."

"The skip isn't being taken away until Monday, darling."

"Stop calling me 'darling', you devious cow!"

"Sorry, I thought you liked it when I called you darling. You should have said before. Anyway, you have all weekend to remove your stuff from the skip before it's collected although I wouldn't waste time if I were you because it may rain tomorrow."

"Where will I put the stuff?"

"I don't know! Why didn't you plan this out in advance?" She gave him a look of exasperation as if talking to an idiot. "Oh, sorry! It's because you misunderstood me, isn't it?"

"And where's my money gone?"

"Your money is still in your bank account, Simon. I've not taken your money--in fact, I've subsidised you for the past three weeks but you needn't pay me back--at least not straight away. You can go and get your money out of the bank."

"No I can't," he retorted. "You cut my cards and cheques up!"

"No, Simon, you cut them up--with hindsight, rather a silly thing to do under the circumstances." She gave a little smile and nodded her head.

"What am I going to do?" he exhorted.

"You'll need to get new cards from the bank, Simon. ... Oh, I forgot, they're closed until Monday, aren't they?"

"I can't believe you've done this to me," he wailed. "Please take me back!"

"No way, Simon. As I told you, this punishment was designed to ensure you never wore my underwear again. Only by separating from you will I make sure of that! You didn't honestly think that a month of wearing lingerie would turn you off the idea for life, did you?"

He shook his head in despair. "Look, Emma! Please help me. I've got no money and nowhere to go. What am I going to do?"

She rubbed her chin, pretending to think hard. "Well, you could always give Sarah a call. I have a strong feeling that she would have you back, at least for a few weeks--but on her terms though! She seemed to have enjoyed her part in helping me out."

With that, Emma gently closed the door, leaving Simon to collapse on the doorstep, his head in his hands and tears streaming down his face. In desperation, he reached for his mobile phone and brought up Sarah's number. Should he call her?

THE END ... or is it?