For many years our marriage followed a fairly typical pattern. I was, I guess, the 'dominant' partner (or thought I was). I carved out a very successful business career, and my prowess in various sports made me 'a popular local figure'. I was recognised as someone who is a leader and always seemed to finish up being captain, chairman or whatever in everything in which I became involved – which must make my pictures on your website in humiliating pink petticoats and pinafores even harder to understand.

Our sex life was always good, and I must admit to having something of a passion for sexy underwear, which was to prove the cornerstone of my downfall. I enjoyed seeing my attractive wife Lesley in exotic items, particularly basques, frilly French knickers, and suspenders and stockings, and often bought her presents of this nature. It all seemed a harmless game one night when, after a few glasses of wine, thoughts turned to love, and Lesley laughingly insisted that I wore one of these sets for her amusement for a change! Seeing no problem, I allowed her, playfully, to dress me in bra, suspenders, knickers and stockings, a process that I found very exciting.

Lesley became far more firm and assertive than I was used to during this process, and I also found this strangely provocative. Once the dressing was finished, I felt strangely excited, a combination of intense embarrassment at being thus attired, coupled with incredible desire. Lesley insisted that, as I was clearly playing the female part, she took the dominant role in our lovemaking, which was absolutely stunning. Whether as a subconscious response to prove my 'manliness' whilst wearing this humiliating outfit I didn’t know, but suffice to say I exceeded expectations!

Lesley:  Though I had occasionally wondered about something like this, and heard other women joke about how randy their partners became in knickers etc. this really was a spur of the moment event. However it did not take very long to realise, to my astonishment, how docile he became once I had him in undies, and how easy it was for me to 'take command' in the situation. All this and fantastic sex!  My imagination worked overtime for many days afterwards.

Penelope:  For the next few weeks Lesley occasionally re-introduced the idea of my wearing some of her frillies into our lovemaking. I found myself, being required to wear sexy nighties that I had bought her a couple of times, and various other items of lingerie from her wardrobe. She became increasingly firm about insisting on deciding what I wore, and increasingly adopted a dominant attitude towards me on these occasions. I accepted this as harmlessly amusing role-play, and was happy enough to comply. My strange mixture of feelings when 'playing', extreme embarrassment coupled with extreme desire, always resulted in wonderful and ecstatic sex.

Lesley:   I was pretty much making this up as I went along, but was beginning to see how life could become very sweet. Sex at the level we were now enjoying could be used as a potent weapon, and I determined to begin to test the possibilities.

Penelope:  Things started to subtly change at about this time. My wearing bizarre undies started to become a condition that was insisted upon if I was to be 'rewarded' with sex.  I still saw this as harmless role-play, even when the completion of my dressing started not to be rewarded immediately, but rather I was asked to perform some small, but invariably demeaning, task prior to lovemaking. I found this stunning. My desire, once dressed, was to get out of these humiliating garments as soon as possible, and being forced to prance about for several minutes at my wife’s beck and call was agony, and conversely, even more exciting.  I didn’t even make much more than a token protest when Lesley started to take pictures of me in my 'pretties', as she called them, for our 'special album' as a further pre-condition of sex.  I was so bursting once dressed that I found myself ready to do just about anything to get into bed. I barely stopped to think where my small kink for silky undies was taking me.

Lesley: You will realise, however, that I was thinking very hard. I had read an article about how some men, in positions of power outside the home, found it very exciting and relaxing to be dominated domestically. I now knew exactly what I wanted. I had always been denied any help around the house, as, though we could afford it, he felt that as I did not have to work, I should maintain the house. This irked me, as the money we could have spent on a home help was used to pay the fees of his various clubs and societies. Now I saw the way to have a submissive, feminised home help to keep me financially, take away a lot of the boring, menial domestic chores, and give me really satisfying sex. I was determined to achieve this, and had the power to make it happen if I planned carefully. Now was the time to move out of the bedroom…

Penelope:  However I was soon to find out. The first time Lesley’s domination moved into normal life was one evening when she insisted I help wash up and clear the kitchen wearing a pinnie. My argument that it wasn’t necessary was quickly overcome with the promise of sex to follow. I was surprised when she produced a frilly-looking pinnie as I didn’t even know we possessed one, however my objections were quickly dismissed and I found myself very firmly being tied into it. (I only discovered later that the pinnie had, of course, been purchased especially for me).

This was a different situation. It was the first time I had worn anything feminine outside the bedroom, and I felt very uneasy and vulnerable. It was still light, and Lesley laughed at my efforts to stay away from the windows, saying she was sure people would think I looked 'really cute' in my pretty pinnie. A couple of times I made to remove it, to be forcibly told that there would be no sex if I took it off. Finally she asked me to take some rubbish out to the bin, when I refused she, for the first time in this whole sequence of events, became angry.

'For god’s sake it’s only a pinnie!' she snapped. 'If you don’t want to play anymore, take it off – I thought you’d enjoy being my little home-help!' She stared at me sternly. The challenge was clear. It was true, over the past few weeks I had come to find it very relaxing to be to some extent controlled in our home life after days of pressurised decision-making at work. 'What the hell', I thought, 'it’s only a pinnie, no one’s going to see me anyway if I’m quick', so out I dashed, with Lesley’s delighted laughter ringing in my ears. In hindsight this was clearly a key point in my descent into my present situation. Lesley’s control had advanced a key step – I often wonder what would have developed had I taken that pinnie off.

Lesley: So do I. After that evening I felt confident that it was only a matter of time and patience until I had complete control – and a new housemaid.

Penelope:  The pinnie became a regular feature, as did my doing the housework wearing it. I still felt excruciatingly vulnerable wearing this obviously feminine item around the house, often in broad daylight, a feeling heightened when Lesley insisted I wear a scarf, tied into a sort of charladies’ turban, for dusting etc. Photos continued to be taken of me in embarrassing situations. (Though certainly not compared to what your readers see now). She gently teased me about my 'becoming a very efficient housemaid' and I found myself getting increasingly drawn in to servile domesticity, but still choosing to believe that this was all sexual role-play, blissfully unaware that my dear wife was using sex mercilessly as a weapon to gradually increase her control, and my submissiveness.

One memorable evening, whilst I was upstairs cleaning the bathroom in my pinnie and turban I heard the doorbell ring, and Lesley go to answer it. Hearing no more, I assumed that she had dealt with the caller. A couple of minutes later the door to our bedroom opened and I turned to speak, only to freeze at the sight of two people – Lesley and her mother! I hurriedly went to remove my pinnie but Lesley quickly stopped me 'Oh no, you don’t have to take it off', she laughed. 'Mummy didn’t believe you had become so domesticated, I just had to show her how good you were'.

I stood there, dumbfounded and humiliated as the two women jokingly praised me on my domesticity and appearance. My mother-in-law laughingly praised her daughter on having found such a good housemaid and enquired what 'her' name was. She suggested several, 'Polly' and 'Nancy' I remember, but then they decided that Penelope was an excellent choice. Eventually they left me to finish my work, my mother-in-law leaving with, 'Goodbye, Penelope, see you soon'. Another fateful night!

Lesley:  I knew that exposing him to Mummy was a risk, but one that had to be taken if I was to achieve the level of control I wanted. His dumbfounded acceptance of his humiliation was all the proof I needed that my months of careful conditioning were working – and now he even had a female nickname, which I would use at every opportunity. The next step was obvious – into skirts and petticoats!

Penelope:  This led to another key point. I was furious that Lesley had exposed me in my humiliating garb to her mother, and when she had left went down to take her to task. Again, she dealt with my objection laughingly. 'Don’t be so silly, Mummy was surprised and pleased that you’ve become so helpful, her opinion of you has gone up, not down – she thinks more men should help like you do'.

I pointed out that it was being seen in a pinnie that I objected to, not doing the work. 'I’m afraid that’s the trouble,' she said, 'they just don’t make suitable clothes for male home helps,  still if you’re tired of your pinnie we can find something else I’m sure'. Tired of my pinnie? Find something else? Male home help? I was still pondering on these as she led me up to the bedroom. Over the next couple of weeks I found myself even more regularly 'suited and booted' for housework, and infuriatingly referred to as 'Penelope' by Lesley and my mother-in-law on the phone.

I was still taken aback when Lesley announced one Wednesday evening that she wanted to do a big clean up in the house on the Saturday, and that she wanted me to help. I was having none of this, Saturday was golf day, and I brusquely refused. She flew into a rage saying that I supposed it was all right to do housework if sex was involved, but this was for real, and I had better be prepared to help or I could forget sex until I did.

I duly played golf on Saturday, but the atmosphere in the house was like ice, and far from sex all I got was the cold shoulder, and monosyllabic replies to any approaches. The next week was not a particularly important game, so I thought 'Let’s get it over with', and phoned my partners with some excuse that I would not be able to play.

 I happily turned up from work that night with flowers, an apology, and a promise to help in whatever way she wanted that Saturday. I did not get the warm response I expected. Lesley regarded me with a cold smile. 'You’ve been very naughty. I suppose you think that you can just do a bit of work and I’ll jump into bed with you, well, its not going to be that easy. Things are going to be different, if you want to carry on with letting me run the house it’s going to be on my terms'. I had no idea what she meant, but had the first inkling that things were going beyond role-play.

On the Saturday morning I got up and started to dress, but Lesley stopped me. 'Put these on darling' she said, getting out one of the bra, knickers suspenders and stockings sets that we had often played in. 'You know I like you in these, and, its more appropriate for you today'.

Puzzled by her last remark, but thinking my luck was in and she wanted sex prior to starting work, I hurriedly got ready. I was not prepared for what happened next. Lesley smilingly handed me a short, black full slip, and coat-hanger on which was a short, black and white housemaid- type overall with a white frilly cap. 'Slip these on and then go and make breakfast', she said firmly. I was horrified. 'Where did you get that from, I’m not going to wear a dress!' I yelped. She held my gaze. 'It’s not a dress, Penelope, it’s a housemaid’s overall, I’ve bought it especially for you and if you’re going to be my housemaid, you’re going to wear whatever I decide – don’t be tiresome, just get it on'.

This last was said coldly, but I was determined not to be persuaded. I argued that I’d agreed to help for the day, would even wear my pinnie, but was not going to dress in a petticoat and woman’s overall. 'Then you’d better go and play golf', she said, ' but you’ll be ending what we’ve got going here, and there’s something else I think you should consider - sit down here for a moment'.

 I sat on the edge of the bed and she soon returned, carrying a small photograph album. Smiling triumphantly she handed it to me. In a flash I knew what to expect, sure enough I opened it to find every embarrassing picture she had taken of me in our sex-games on display. She seemed to take a big breath. 'I’m going downstairs, it’s your choice. You can either put these on and come down, or get changed into your golf gear and go, and that’ll be the end of all this. I didn’t want to have to threaten to do this, I hoped you’d see what’s good for us,  but if you go and play golf I don’t know what I might do with these pictures, possibly nothing, but are you prepared to take that chance?'

With a smile she left, casually turning at the doorway and remarking, 'Mummy has the negatives'.

Was I prepared to take that chance? Five minutes later I was down in the kitchen, wearing the petticoat, dress and frilly cap. Lesley regarded me appraisingly, dressed undeniably in women’s clothes for the first time. 'Mmm Penelope, I think I’d like my housemaid in earrings and a little make-up, come and sit here and I’ll fix you up'. Without any thought of argument, I complied.  Penelope had really arrived now.

Lesley:  Almost a year of careful planning and conditioning had finally come to fruition. His reaction that morning was like a rabbit caught in headlights. Once in skirts he seemed absolutely powerless to resist my will in any way at all. I loved the incredible feeling of absolute power, and determined to enjoy it to the full.

Penelope:  Life now took on a dreamlike (or nightmare-like) state. I was curtly informed on that first morning that this would be the pattern for Saturdays from now on, I could forget golf, or any other recreation unless given 'permission'. How I explained this to my friends was up to me, though Lesley would be quite happy to tell them the real reason if I wished. Days went by as previously, to all intents and purposes I was the successful, dominant male, driving my business colleagues as hard as ever.

On passing my front door, however, things were very different. Most evenings now I was required to don my uniform (I found that two had been purchased, so that one was always available whilst I was laundering the other), and carry out my duties feeling utterly ridiculous and incredibly vulnerable, in constant fear of being exposed in my petticoated state to anyone else. I found the wearing of female attire seemed to drain me of any power to resist, and made me completely compliant to Lesley’s demands.

The first person to witness my further degradation was, of course, my mother-in-law. Arriving home one evening, I found them both in the kitchen, and was smilingly told by my wife to go and change for housework. Her firm look brooked no argument, so a few minutes later my 'secret' was being revealed for the first time. My mother-in-law, Pat, mockingly complimented Lesley on Penelope’s appearance, and was soon joining enthusiastically in the contemptuous teasing that always accompanied my housemaid sessions.

Her visits became more regular, and she seemed to goad Lesley into finding new ways to increase my humiliation. One evening she commented, as I was serving them some tea, that I should have a suitable serving apron, and a few days later appeared with a 'present for Penelope', a very frilly white tabard that I was soon being tied into! This, to me, made my outfit even more humiliating. (You have seen me wearing this black and white outfit in a picture on your site). The thought of being seen like this filled me with dread, and I started to complain to Lesley, pointing out, reasonably enough, I thought, that I didn’t need to look so feminine to carry out my housework. After daring to raise this two or three times, I got a response, though not the one I wanted! Lesley flew into a rage: 'Too feminine - that’s not too feminine, I’ve had enough of this. I ask you to wear perfectly normal housemaid’s uniforms and you just whine and complain. Right, I’ll have to show you what it’s like to be really petticoated - you don’t know how lucky you’ve been!'

What now?

Lesley:  He had played right into my hands. After a few weeks of him running around in his Alexandra overall I was becoming a little bored and was looking for an opportunity to increase his humiliation and my amusement. This power trip made me feel so sexy!

Penelope:  Some days later we were visited one evening by Lesley’s friend Kay, who I knew ran a small dressmaking business. 'Kay’s come to take some measurements for your new outfit', announced my wife, to my utter mortification. I then had to undergo the humiliation of having this woman measure me for female clothing. Various mocking questions about skirt lengths, whether I would be wearing a bra and what size, how many frills on the blouse etc. forcibly made the point that I was about to become an even more helpless, docile and feminised maidservant. Lesley several times laughingly made the point that she wanted the outfit to make me realise just what it felt to be really 'petticoat-controlled'. How could I possibly stand there, feeling powerless to resist, whilst these two women discussed my new maid’s outfit? Kay left, assuring my wife that she had some ideas for 'something really special', and was doubtless amused to be told by Lesley to spare no expense – after all, I could pay for my own clothes.

About two weeks later I was surprised, on returning home, to find a few cars in our drive, and found on entering the house four friends of Lesley’s, including Kay, and Lesley's mother, seated in the lounge.

'Hello Penelope', said Lesley to my horror, and to the giggles of the ladies. 'Come upstairs, I’ve a nice surprise for you'.

Thus saying, she took my arm and led me firmly up to our bedroom. There, laid out on the bed was my worst nightmare. It was, of course, the incredibly frilly pink outfit that you have seen pictured a number of times. A blouse and pinnie that seemed more frilly as I looked at them, several layers of pink petticoats, some long pink satin bloomers with lace-frilled elasticised legs, and a pink silky full skirt. I stood speechless.

'Now', said Lesley, 'this is what I call too feminine, but I’ve decided it’s just perfect to keep you reminded of your status here, let’s get you dressed,  the girls and I just can’t wait to see you in it'.

I tried a final protest, but, as Lesley contemptuously pointed out, I was too far down the road to pull out now. Dressing me in this ridiculous outfit seemed to take an age; Lesley fussing around until the masses of frills and petticoats were arranged to her satisfaction. Then it was downstairs, the unfamiliar petticoats rustling strangely around my legs, and abruptly through the lounge door to meet the hoots of derisive laughter, ribald comments, and wolf-whistles of my new tormentors.

What an evening that was, these women seemed to never tire of fussing around with my clothing, mockingly complimenting me on my 'delightful' appearance, and teaching me the new skill of curtseying in this mass of frills. They all agreed that the outfit was ideal for a male housemaid, as it was far too precious for a girl to wear.  I then had to write a cheque to Kay and thank her for producing such a 'beautiful girly costume'.  The other thing about that night was that Lesley was absolutely voracious with me in bed afterwards, whilst explaining to me how I was 'hers now, to do as she pleased with me from now on'.

 There was no doubt about that now.  My future as Penelope was sealed.

Lesley:  Voracious is right! I almost had an orgasm just watching Penelope swishing around in his petticoats for our amusement. Some women are turned on by powerful men, with me I seemed to have discovered I was incredibly turned on by a powerful man reduced to complete humility. Every new humiliation seemed to heighten my sexual enjoyment, (and, strangely, his), there would be plenty more!

Penelope:  If you, dear 'Petticoat Discipline Monthly' reader, were watching a film, this would be where you came in! My trials and tribulations from this point on have been documented for your amusement, and that of similarly dominant ladies world wide, on your website. The finding of your site has been the highlight of Lesley’s year. She had previously tormented me by writing about our relationship to 'Madame' magazine, but coming across your site, totally devoted to her pet subject, delighted her, particularly as it has given her the opportunity to increase my torment by making visions of me in my hated finery available to Petticoat Discipline enthusiasts worldwide.

I cringe when the latest edition comes on line at the thought of my humiliation being visible to thousands of people! However this is not my biggest trial. Lesley seems to delight in constantly increasing her domination. As you know I have suffered being dressed by my 'dressmakers' for the recent showing of another new outfit, been forced to try on overalls and pinafores in a busy department store, and, with increasing frequency, sent out 'fully dressed' as a punishment in the evenings to the local post box. Can you imagine what it feels like, skulking along, despite my best efforts a fairly obvious man in skirts, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as cars and the occasional passers-by approach? Now, following the suggestion of your correspondent, I am threatened with being taken shopping dressed in my skirts as my punishment the next time it pleases Lesley.

I believe many men fantasise about being forced into petticoats. Believe me the actuality is far less enjoyable than your fantasy. What may be a novelty at first quickly becomes a nightmare, as you face the reality of being exposed to the world as a thoroughly petticoated male. There have been times when it has taken all my resolve not to break down as I, petticoats rustling, do my best to serve a group of ladies who are intent solely on my humiliation. You, Miss MacDonald, have commented that I am the most completely petticoated men you have ever seen – I certainly feel like that, and that is one compliment from a lady I would rather not have received.

In conclusion I must say that, incredible as it may seem to you after the foregoing, I believe we still have a loving relationship, albeit of a rather unorthodox nature. Lesley gets a huge kick out of subjecting me to Petticoat Discipline, and our sex life, particularly after a very humiliating session, is fantastic. As for me, I still am seen by all but Lesley’s circle of friends, as a successful, if these days rather quieter, man. The threat of exposure that hangs over me I guess makes the adrenalin pump, and certainly means that life doesn’t get boring!
Yours humbly,
Penelope

For the many readers who have followed Lesley and Penelope's story with great interest, I trust that this account answers some of your questions. It is good to hear Penelope's side of events, because Lesley and Penelope really do love each other very much, and theirs is a petticoat-governed household at its best. Lesley did write another note with a couple more photographs for Penelope fans the world over:

Dear Susan,

Here is the picture of Penelope about to set out to post our Christmas cards, you can see why he's not keen on this idea. The kilt, which the ungrateful man objects to as he thinks it is too short and likely to draw attention to him, I am making him wear in honour of your nationality. I feel that you have become a friend in petticoating, so he must honour you like my other friends. I also attach a picture of him for no other reason than I find it rather funny, sitting there waiting for instructions, and failing totally to hide his humiliating petticoats.
Happy Christmas to all at petticoated.com,

Lesley (and Penelope)