Simon had not had a good start to his first full day with Sarah in that he was now locked in a chastity device with no knowledge of when he might be released. Whilst the thought of being caged in this way had always appealed to his submissive side, the reality of what it might entail was now concerning him. Would he be able to cope? With this weighing on his mind, Sarah had sent him downstairs to prepare breakfast and he used that task to try to take his mind off his predicament, not that this strategy proved effective in the slightest.

Still pondering whether escape from Sarah was possible, he called up to her that breakfast was ready and the pair sat down to a simple meal of orange juice, coffee and cereal. They sat at the same table but nothing was said between them as they ate. Sarah was now confidently dressed in blue jeans topped with a bright red T-shirt while Simon was self-consciously still in his bra and panties from the previous day.

"Right," Sarah said, after finishing her breakfast and rising to her feet, "you need to do the dishes and then I've got a job for you that I've been putting off." He quickly sorted things out in the kitchen and she then beckoned him into the utility room that adjoined the kitchen. There on the floor was her dirty laundry bag--the very same bag he remembered from five years earlier. Was she deliberately provoking him?

"Everything in there needs to be hand-washed," she explained. "I hate hand-washing but now I've got you to do it!" She smiled and he found himself blushing. "Off you go," she continued. "Start by tipping everything out and sorting the items into types."

He emptied the bag and was amazed at how much was in there which confirmed what she'd said about deferring her hand-washing. On the floor must have been two weeks' worth of her smalls. There were knickers, bras, stockings, suspender belts, tights and camisoles, along with one or two things he couldn't put a name to. Her aromas, those that define her as a fertile and sexually active girl, wafted up from the pile. Some of the panties, he discovered, still had pantyliners in place which he was obliged to remove under her watchful eye. Sarah stood there but showed no signs of embarrassment at the state in which she'd left her dirty clothes.

Once he'd put the stuff into little piles she spent a few minutes describing in detail exactly what she was expecting, and it was more complicated than he'd imagined. Critical factors as far as she was concerned included pre-soaking times, the water temperature, the ratio of detergent to water, the number of rinses needed to remove traces of detergent and the required way of laying the items out to dry without distorting their shape. The most embarrassing part of her lesson was instructing him, with a practical demonstration, her method of physically cleaning each item. He was sure she was tormenting him as she almost seductively rubbed two pieces of fabric together to use gentle friction to remove dirt and then delicately used her fingertips to erase more stubborn stains.

With Sarah still looking on, he began the washing process endeavouring to follow her instructions to the letter. She was quick to point out where he was going wrong but seemed keen to offer advice rather than administer punishment. As she watched him she must have been aware that he was becoming aroused from handling her intimate apparel--private items that for the most part were expected to be hidden from public view and not handled by strangers. She would have known he was becoming excited because of the contorted expression on his face as his penis attempted, in vain, to push through the steel bars of his chastity device. A couple of times he gave a sharp intake of breath and once an audible wince, coupled with some fidgeting, as he sought, unsuccessfully, to gain some comfort.

"You need to put out of your mind what you're handling," she advised, but that was easier said than done.

After twenty minutes, she said she would leave him to it while she went down to the shed to inspect his black bags. "No sniffing my undies," she warned him.

"No, Miss," he replied. He was being truthful because he understood that inhaling her scent would only exacerbate the discomfort he was feeling down below. Moreover, it was now nearly two days since he'd last masturbated so he was feeling frustrated. Two days might not seem long but he had always been sexually active and since being denied coitus with Emma, he had resorted to self-pleasuring every other day. Whether Emma knew what he was doing was open to question but, if she did, she didn't care. (With hindsight he could see this was a sign that she was finishing with him but that hadn't occurred to him at the time.)

Yet now, locked securely into his cage, he had no idea when he would be allowed release nor how he would cope until then. One thing was clear, though, the more he displeased Sarah, the longer it would be before he might be unlocked. Therefore, disobedience was out of the question and that meant no sniffing.

Sarah seemed to take ages in the shed but eventually came back through the utility room carrying two black bin bags which he saw she was taking into the lounge. A few minutes later, she returned to inspect the items he had laundered and which were now carefully laid out to dry on a couple of clotheshorses. Randomly, she picked up a few pieces, examined them for stains, and stiffed them for excessive fragrance, which would be suggestive of inadequate cleaning or insufficient rinsing--diametric opposites but both unacceptable to Sarah.

All was going well until she picked up a pair of her knickers. "What's this, here?" she asked.

Simon looked closely and could see a couple of faint brown marks where her vulva would have pressed against the gusset. Before he could offer an opinion, Sarah continued. "It's blood from my last period, Simone. Why's it still there? It's disgusting! ...Ugh!"

Simon had gone red again and struggled to say anything. "Er, sorry, Miss, I, I must have missed it."

"Well, it's not good enough so all my knickers need to be rewashed."

Before he could stop himself, Simon replied, "All of them? Really?"

He instantly regretted the way he had phrased that response. "Yes, really!" she stressed, looking at him with a shocked expression. "How dare you use that tone of voice when speaking to me."

"I'm sorry, Miss. I was just taken aback by the need to rewash them all."

"You were impertinent, Simone. Have you ever written lines?"

"Erm, lines? Once when I was at school, Miss."

"Well, your free time this evening will be spent writing out one hundred times 'I apologise for being insolent to Miss Jones.' Understood?"

"Yes, Miss. I'm very sorry, Miss."

"And I'm adding a further two days to the time you are locked up before release." He gulped on hearing this. She had still not said how long he was being locked up but it was now two days longer. Thus, he knew for certain that his release would not be in the next two days. She was sending a clear message that she had zero tolerance for any faults on his part. He was going to have to watch his step.

"Just get on with rewashing all my panties. If necessary, use some gentle bleach to remove stubborn stains, but don't get it on anything coloured or you'll be buying me replacements."

"Yes, Miss, I understand."

She left him to his chores returning half an hour later to see how he had managed. Each pair of knickers was inspected and he just managed to avoid emitting a sigh of relief as she declared herself satisfied that they met her standards.

"I've been through the bags, so follow me," she ordered, and they went into the lounge. Spread out across the sofa was an array of clothing, some which he recognised and some which he didn't. Although she had brought in two black bags, it seemed that only one of these bags had been his. That was one bag out of probably a dozen that were his and which were still locked away under Sarah's control. Escape was looking less likely.

"This is what you'll be keeping in your room, Simone. Everything else stays locked in the shed unless I decide otherwise." He looked at the large pile of stuff on the sofa. There were all the clothes he had purchased at the insistence of Emma, along with a couple of business suits and two white shirts, which, to be honest, he thought had been destroyed by Emma. The rest of the ensemble was unfamiliar and disturbing. What was more worrying still was what was missing, such as jeans, chinos and more shirts.

Sarah saw the consternation in his expression. "Some of this stuff was left by a girlfriend I had." He just stopped himself from expressing surprise at her mentioning a girlfriend but remembered she'd hinted at something like this in the car on Friday evening.

"When we parted, she asked me to take it to a charity shop but I never got around to it, but you're a sort of charity case so I'm giving it to you." She grinned, taking pleasure in seeing him squirm. "She was a couple of sizes larger than me--very pretty though--and I reckon it will all fit you."

Simon looked flabbergasted but Sarah hadn't finished. "You'll be relieved to see that some of the things we've got here are androgynous, but if I feel you're resisting my authority, then you'll find there's frilly stuff here as well for you to wear." She held up a pair of blue jeans. "Look! What do you think of these? They're suitable for a boy or a girl."

To Simon's way of thinking, there was nothing masculine about them. For a start, they were short in the leg and at best might be described as ankle grazers but on him were more likely to be midcalf. Blokes aged thirty didn't wear jeans like that. What's more, the zip on the fly was no more than two inches long. No man with an uncaged penis would be able to extricate it through the fly to pee unless he pulled the jeans partially down.

Next, she held up a white T-shirt. "This is pretty and could be worn by any gender," she remarked. It was indeed pretty but very feminine. The front was covered in glitter which surrounded an image of a green bottle with the slogan, 'I love Prosecco'. There was nothing manly about it.

"Now you've got some clothes you can get changed. Here ... now ... in front of me. Come on, we don't have all day." Bashfully, he stripped off the bra and knickers he was wearing and she passed him replacements. He pulled the panties up, after putting in a pantyliner from the box on the sofa, and then put his bra on, deftly reaching behind his back to do up the hooks.

"Wow!" she commented, "You've got that off to a fine art. I'm well impressed. As a teenager, it took me months to learn to do it that quickly." Once again, he felt conflicted--on the one hand, he felt pride that she was praising him and on the other, what she was saying was so degrading. The latter element won and his face turned crimson.

Glancing at her as he put on his underwear, Simon had deduced she was enjoying his humiliation. And by 'enjoying', he meant that she was becoming sexually aroused at seeing him being deprived of what little dignity he had left. There were clues that he had picked up on, such as her nipples had become erect and were pushing against her T-shirt, her pupils were dilating, her cheeks were looking a little flushed and she seemed to be taking heavier breaths. At one point, she even absentmindedly touched herself in the crotch before swiftly moving her hand away when she caught his gaze. For a few seconds, Simon had found himself absorbed by the explicit traits she was displaying.

"Stop staring at me," she ordered. "Get dressed! Fillers next."

He snapped out of his trance and did as she instructed. After adjusting his shoulder straps, just as Emma had taught him, he put on the jeans and T-shirt that Sarah had picked out for him. Any hopes he had that they wouldn't fit had to be abandoned because he was able to do the jeans up and the top fitted cleanly over his torso. Nevertheless, as he suspected, the drainpipe jeans stopped well above his ankles and, equally bad in his eyes, the T-shirt left him with a bare midriff. It also did nothing to disguise his bra.

"How's that?" she asked, with a sly smile, "Are you happier now you're not having to march around in your undies?"

Of course, he wasn't happy, but he knew better than to say so. "Yes, Miss, this is a big improvement." She grinned and clearly understood he was being economical with the truth.

Finally, she chucked over to him a pair of pink ankle socks and a pair of pink trainers. "The socks should fit but I'm not sure about the footwear," she remarked. Regrettably, he found everything fitted although he would have preferred a size larger in trainers.

He found himself looking at the large pile left on the sofa, but his eyes weren't searching for what he might be expected to wear tomorrow --no, they were looking for something else.

"What is it?" she asked, impatiently.

"Er, did you find my driving licence and passport, Miss?" he nervously enquired. After all, if he was to go to the bank on Monday to arrange new cards they would insist on seeing some official ID. And without new cards, he had no access to money, blocking his escape plans.

"Um, no, they weren't there. But why would they be, for heaven's sake?" Was she struggling not to smile? "Emma--actually, I think she's due some respect, so let's call her by her proper name, Miss Robinson--wouldn't put them outside in the skip where they could be stolen or damaged if it rained, as it's doing now." She pointed out of the window at the Spring shower that was watering the garden. "She's not stupid, you know?"

"No, Miss, I wasn't suggesting she was. But I will need those to show the bank. What can I do?"

"Well, I can't see you getting anywhere phoning Miss Robinson. For starters, it wouldn't surprise me if she's blocked your number. Let me give her a call later."

"Yes, Miss, thank you, Miss," he replied, far from satisfied but knowing he couldn't press his case further.

She then told him to take the rest of the clothes upstairs and tidy them away in his room. He did so and as he put the items into storage he was shocked to see that amongst them were a couple of mini skirts, a flowery dress, several revealing vest tops, and a diaphanous blouse which he assumed he would have to wear at some point--sooner rather than later if he upset Sarah. He felt he was being sucked into a whirlpool from which there was no escape.

Coming back downstairs, he went back into the lounge to find that Sarah was holding his phone, "I've charged your mobile up," she said, passing it to him. "I need you to unlock it as there are some changes I have to make." He knew better than to ask what changes and he opened the phone and passed it back to her.

"Now get on with some tidying and cleaning, Simone. I want the house to look spotless from top to bottom. Go on, shoo!"

As he knew from living in the house five years previously, house cleaning was another task that Sarah never prioritised. The place wasn't dirty or unhygienic, but there was some dust and there was a lot of clutter so there was much work to do as he couldn't risk her finding fault with his efforts, as she'd done with the laundry. Being assigned more lines would be bad enough, but having more days added to his denial time would be unbearable.

He busied away for the rest of the morning and, at 1 PM, Sarah told him to stop for a quick lunch, which comprised cheese sandwiches eaten in the kitchen. "I hope you can see I'm taking good care of you, Simone," she said between mouthfuls. "You may think I'm a cruel tyrant but if you behave yourself and follow my rules you've nothing to worry about. I'm not planning to cause you any permanent harm. OK?"

"Yes, Miss," he replied with some trepidation. He wasn't sure what she meant by 'permanent harm' but he had no wish to find out.

"I expect you to work hard to please me. Your working hours are from seven in the morning until about seven in the evening, seven days a week. The rest of the time is your own. However, when you've disappointed me, as you did this morning with the hand-washing, some of your free time will have to be given up for punishment. OK?"

"Yes, Miss." It struck him that he would have very little free time whilst here and he also wondered what this meant during the working week.

He thought of asking, but she hadn't finished. "You're going to need your rest so bedtime is nine-thirty and wake-up time is five-thirty. All right?"

"Yes, Miss." This sounded to him like being in prison doing hard labour, although naturally, he had no personal experience of that.

"Good, so off you go and continue the cleaning. The more thoroughly you do it today, the easier it'll be to keep on top of it."

He did as he was told, cleaning everything in sight, even things that looked clean already, he cleaned again. Work continued until 7 PM when Sarah told him to come to the kitchen. Luckily, for them both, Sarah had decided she would do most of the cooking. She had probably remembered that his culinary skills were somewhat lacking and, for her own sake, it was better she served as the chef, with Simon providing support by peeling vegetables, washing up, etc.

After they had finished dinner, she explained, "Usually, you'd have a couple of hours of free time now, but tonight you've got lines to write. You stay here and do them and I'll go and watch a film. Come through when you've finished." She passed him an A4 pad plus a black pen. "Take your time, Simone. They need to be tidy and there are to be no crossings-out or overwriting of letters. Each page needs to be perfect."

With that, she left him to get on with his punishment. It took him back to his school days except he suspected that Sarah's standards were much higher than those of Miss Wetherby, his terrifying English teacher. Furthermore, he'd only had to write fifty lines for Miss Wetherby but Sarah had set one hundred. It was a bigger challenge than he had anticipated and it took several attempts to complete the first page to what he trusted would pass inspection. Also, while Sarah hadn't told him to, he assumed she wanted the lines numbered in the margin and, for good measure, he also wrote his name and the date at the top of each page.

Such were the demanding standards he set himself, the task took ninety minutes to complete. Breathing a sigh of relief, he took the four pages of handwriting through to Sarah who was engrossed in her film. "Excuse me, Miss Jones, but I've completed my lines."

Without even looking at him, she replied, "Good girl! I won't inspect them this time so just tear them in half and drop them in the bin. You have now free time until bed."

He felt devastated to be told that she wasn't going to review his lines because he had put so much effort into ensuring they were as perfect as he could make them. He felt proud of his achievement and he had been hoping that she might praise him for the high standards he'd met. Instead, he just had to tear them up and dispose of them. This hit him hard--very hard--while also making him aware of how low he had fallen. What thirty-year-old spends an hour-and-a-half writing lines in the hope of receiving praise from their oppressor?

To take his mind off things, he picked up his phone to see what changes Sarah had made. While he had no intention of viewing any dubious websites, he was quick to discover that there were very few sites he could explore. Sarah had installed an app intended for children to control their viewing habits, both in terms of screen time and sites that could be visited. The permitted sites were largely those that a young girl might be interested in, such as cartoons, soaps, fashion reviews, exercise routines, make-up videos, etc. The only adult site he could access seemed to be the BBC News.

He became engrossed in the BBC website when suddenly the screen went blank. Looking up, he saw it was bedtime and obediently, he stood up and said to Sarah, "It's my bedtime, Miss."

"So it is," she replied. "But before going to bed, you should ask me if there is anything I need?"

"Sorry, Miss. Is there anything you would like?"

"No, thank you, Simone. Don't forget to set your alarm for five-thirty. That's the time you get up every day. You then have an hour or so to get yourself shaved, epilated, trimmed, showered, dressed, and so on. I want you to take a lot of care over your appearance. Tomorrow you can wear the same shirt and jeans as today but obviously clean socks and underwear. Once dressed, you can have a simple breakfast in the kitchen and then find some quiet chores to do to keep you busy until you bring me my breakfast in bed at 8:30 AM at weekends--or at 7 AM on weekdays. Is this understood, Simone?"

"Yes, Miss Jones, I understand. Thank you, Miss. Good night, Miss."

"Good night, Simone." Dejectedly, he made his way upstairs, wondering if there was any way he could escape this nightmare, and, if not, what further indignities and shame the next year would hold for him. It was abundantly clear that Sarah was revelling in his abject humiliation and each day the noose was tightening, making his escape less feasible. Was his best option simply to take it all in his stride and accept his fate? Was his submissive side strong enough to survive a year? He had no idea.