Owned by Miss Irene Clearmont

Book Details

Owned (Maid and Aunt 3) – The third and closing volume of the Maid and Aunt trilogy, ‘Owned‘, details how Aunt Victoria completes the training of her nephew to become the perfect gift for someone very important in her life.

At the end of ‘Nephew‘ Michael still had thoughts that he could escape his aunt somehow, despite his ever increasing dependence and the attentions of Tamara, Aunt Victoria’s closest friend. By the time that volume two, ‘Tuition‘, is complete the nephew has has fallen totally under her power and all that remains to be done is to break all contact with his past and remake him into the slave that she desires.

‘Owned‘ is set a short while after the close of book 2 and details the final stages of this re-education that Aunt Victoria has been so lavish and generous in completing. Naturally her deviant maid Frieda is at the centre of things as is Aunt Victoria’s daughter, the dominant Prudence.

Victoria decides that each of the friends and relatives that share her interests will take a unique and final part in preparing Michael for the rest of his life under female control. Tamara, the one that seduced him and broke down his barriers. Prudence, the step sister that he could never compare to. Angie, the cheerful sadistic bringer of pain and Victoria herself will all take their part in this final preparation to become nothing more than a slave that begs to please their every degenerate whim.

Passed from one to the other, Michael will have the last mental bastions stormed until, at last, he discovers a fulfillment that he never thought was possible. A need to serve and give intimate pleasure even though his own desperate needs are restrained and kept at arm’s length.

‘Owned‘ completes the Maid and Aunt trilogy with a finish that delves a little into exactly what would be needed to create a truly devoted intimate slave of the young man who began as a naive teenager in the first book. We learn a little more about Tamara as well as Victoria’s other friends as well as Victoria herself as at last Michael learns to fit into her household as her personal toy and comes to love every moment of his captivity.

Setting: UK

F/m, Humiliation, Feminisation, Domestic BDSM, Enforced Chastity, Smoking, Modifications

Strength 8/10 – 52,000 Words

Written 2023

Excerpt: Owned

Maid and Aunt Pt 3

One – Victoria

The regime changed and stayed the same. Poppet sensed that something was different, but she could not quite put her finger on the reason that she thought so. That could have been because her hands were often strapped up behind her back, or it could have been because she rarely had any time to think at all. Chores seemed to pile up ahead of her like a wave as she ironed seeming endless piles of feminine clothing, waxed the floors of the old house, stood as service at meals and scrubbed bathrooms until they shone.

Aunt Victoria was a presence that loomed in the background, Frieda the ever- present taskmaster who moved Poppet from one chore to the next, inflicting small humiliations with smiling casual spite on the way. The ever-present bonds of her servitude were a constant reminder to the nephew that has fallen so far. Seemingly, on the surface they were designed to restrain, prevent escape, ensure compliance, their more subtle purpose was to arouse her non-stop, a continual fretting at her sense of control over her own body that created a miasma of provocation that always reminded her of her desperate need.

The long hours from six in the morning until around eight in the evening were spent at her given tasks all of which were either designed to humiliate or teach complete obedience in ways that filled Poppet’s thoughts with hopes and dreams. Not of release or freedom, but the hope of a kind word, a show of affection and most of all, release in a purely physical sense. She woke up tired, she worked at her chores and was locked into her cot exhausted, to fall into uncomfortable sleep that was haunted by dreams of terrifying darknesses and forbidden sensual thoughts.

Weighed by the pull of the heavy ring that stretched her balls to dangle while held in the steel grip of her restraint, Poppet was on display all of the time. The hem of her skirt was so short that it was scarcely a flutter of lace that framed her provocatively as she moved. Seen and unseen, each step exposed her and the following step veiled her again. The sensitive tip of her capped cock, the rest barely visible, all held in place by the wide ring that had been added to provide

an anchor. Without that ring, she could have slipped from her prison, with it in place she was firmly under the control of the women that held the keys. Aunt Victoria, Frieda, Prudence and those that passed through. But the multitude of keys were never applied to the locks that they belonged to! Erections came and went, limited in their scope and filling the steel tube, reminding Poppet that even a show of arousal was not permitted in her world.

The shoes she wore, another limitation that ensured helplessness, for this was one of the purposes of the uniform that she wore at all times. Designed to make her feel vulnerable, to make her easy to humiliate with small intimate touches, fondles of her soft ass and touches that aroused despite their malicious intent. As she had soon discovered, it was no longer possible to walk in bare feet except on tiptoes, her body had betrayed her and adapted to the ballet-shoes and their dagger-like heels. A short chain hung between her ankles, making the length of every step barely the span of a hand, so short now that it had to be removed for her to reach any sort of step in the old house. There was no longer any discomfort or any problems with balance, but the limitations ensured that she carried her prison with her at every step.

The strangest discovery of all, the thing that most delighted and distressed Poppet were the small breasts that had begun to form to balance somewhat the rounded shape of her tender ass and hips. Nowhere near a size that required the support of a bra, her latest uniform framed them for display, cupped under them in lace as if to proclaim the profound power that Aunt Victoria had over Poppet’s own flesh. That power was also proclaimed by the tattoo on the soft skin of her belly, but the breasts were a development that were somehow more potent. Two rings dangled from her nipples the full-stop that asserted the sentence. Poppet could feel herself changing. A slow process that progressed in imperceptible steps. Her legs shapely and strong with the effort of walking and balancing, her ass and hips gaining a roundness that was ever more feminine and her arms and hands withering in strength each passing day.

Last of all in this catalogue of changes was the ring that she now bore through her nose. At night, a smaller golden ring was exchanged for the wide steel ring that was the anchor point for Poppet’s leash. Long healed, the fixture seemed a part of her now, but the sensation of the tug of the leash and her inability to resist was what the ring really represented. Like a precious object, she was hitched to any one of a hundred hooks in the house, to stand and display her helplessness and vulnerability to all that passed. Patted and petted by visitors, fondled, and teased by Frieda the maid, on show for all to enjoy the sight of, a

feminine work of art that Poppet’s Aunt had created from the naïve young man that was her nephew.

There was a final loss that Poppet did not even discern as she struggled to be obedient and perfect for Aunt Victoria. The loss of a sense of the passing of time itself. Day followed night and night was followed by day again. A routine was taking shape that left every day unmarked by singular incident. A purposeful framework in which even the chores were assigned at random. For Poppet each day was the same, it started with being groomed and ended with being caged in her cot, but apart from that, only one of several tasks was designated for the day in such a way that she could be ironing for three days in a row and then not again for what seemed a week. Or maybe more… Time was a featureless horizon line with no summits. Time in the larger sense scarcely existed at all, though every second was filled with make-work and chores that formed a never- ending line catalogue to the horizon, and beyond.

The date of that strange soirée that had ended with her being tattooed and pierced was an anchor of sorts and Poppet knew that that had been in January. Since that evening, it could have been March or even October as the days drifted by and only the moment of now was ever in focus.

Excerpt from: Owned