My Landlady Had Different Plans - Part 10

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"Would you like to serve us at the table?" Mrs. Johnson asked, a twinkle in her eye.

"You can't be serious," said Jessica.

"Why not?" countered Mrs. Johnson. "Just for tonight. We should save the uniform for housework, cleaning, laundry, and so on. But I know that Melissa is desperate to try it on, aren't you, dear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, excited, "I would like that very much!" My heart beat hard in my chest. Serve them at the table? I thought frantically to myself. Thank god I've been watching all of those episodes of Downton Abbey.

"Oh, fine, then," said Jessica, rolling her eyes, her hunger overriding her better judgment.

"Excellent. Melissa, go and change. Quick, like a little bunny!"

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson," I said, hopping upstairs.

"Here you go, Miss." I stood close to Jessica, lightly brushing against her as I dished out the rice and then covered it with a generous helping of stew. I was now dressed in the maid's uniform, looking very proper and English. I could tell by Jessica's glances in my direction that the uniform was having an effect on her. It was certainly having an effect on me. I almost swooned when I put it on and saw myself in the hall mirror.

"You know, once a month, your father would wear a maid's uniform," Mrs. Johnson said, casually.

"Mom!" Jessica said. "Ew! I don't want to hear about Dad dressing up like that."

"I loved those days," Mrs. Johnson continued as I poured the wine, "because he spent the entire day pampering me. He would draw my bath, wash my back, massage my feet, give me a pedicure, and just make sure I felt like a queen in every possible way. That's what real love is."

"This dinner is delicious!" Jessica said, desperate to change the subject. I filled up the water glasses and then retreated to the corner, awaiting further instructions.

"Yes, it is absolutely superb," complimented Mrs. Johnson, in my direction. "You see? Not only is Melissa obedient and faithful, but she is a wonderful cook as well. What more could anyone want for a wife?"

"Mom..." Jessica said, with warning.

"Oh, I don't mean you, dear! I've given up on that," Mrs. Johnson said, giving me a wink. "I'm just saying that someone will soon discover what a catch our darling Melissa is, and then she'll be off caring for a family of her own, won't you, Melissa?"

"Oh, Ma'am, you know I can never leave you." I looked meaningfully at Jessica and touched the Tiffany watch on my wrist. "After all, I promised Jessica I would be forever faithful to you."

"Psh. You can be someone's lovely wife and still look after me. I'm not that much trouble. Besides, didn't you promise to be always obedient?"

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed, humbly.

"And so naturally I would have to approve of who you marry, and then help train you to become the proper wife."

"See?" Jessica gave me an 'I-told-you-so' look.

I squirmed, feeling hot and flushed as their conversation continued.

"Yes, you'll need lots of training to become a proper wife and mother."

"Mother?" I gaped.

"Absolutely! I want grandchildren! At least four."

"Four?" I moaned.

"Four?" Jessica added. She didn't seem shocked, just interested.

"Of course. I always wanted to have more children."

"You wanted more children?" Jessica asked. "Really?"

"Yes, dear. I always wanted a large family, but your father thought one was enough, and since I loved him, I agreed."

"I had always thought it was Dad who wanted more children," Jessica said. "And here I blamed you my whole life for being an only child. I'm sorry."

"Oh dear, it's not your fault. These are just the compromises we make for love. But now I have Melissa, don't I, Melissa?"

"Yes, Ma'am." I felt faint and my mind was reeling. Four children? Would I really become a mommy to a family with four children? Was that really in my future?

"And grandchildren are so much more fun! And I know that they'll all be raised properly, because I will see to it. Isn't that right, Melissa?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I agreed.

It's hard to say how I was feeling at that point. Excited, terrified, horny, submissive, weak, and teary. I really was putting myself into Mrs. Johnson's absolute control, wasn't I? And if she wanted me to marry someone and be a mother to four grandchildren... then I would have to agree, right? Hadn't I just agreed? Does this mean it was going to happen? Visions of babies, diapers, the nursery, and strollers went through my head. All with Mrs. Johnson hovering over me and providing instruction. Changing diapers? I guess I would have to learn. Feeding time? Burping?

Jessica and her Mom were having dessert and an after-dinner drink in the parlor.

"I really must be going," Jessica said, putting her plate down. "Melissa, that was absolutely wonderful."

"Before you go," Mrs. Johnson said. "Could you wait for a second?" Mrs. Johnson got up and left the room.

Jessica and I looked at each other, wondering. Soon, Mrs. Johnson returned, holding something hidden behind her back.

"Now, Melissa, you told me earlier that you had broken a promise?" Mrs. Johnson asked.

Uh, oh. I felt prickly run up my neck. "Yes, Ma'am," I said, eyes wide.

"Then come here," she instructed. I walked over and stood by her.

"Wait, what's going on here?" Jessica asked.

"Melissa is being punished for breaking her promise," Mrs. Johnson said. She pulled her hand from behind her back and revealed a wooden hairbrush!

"With a spanking," she added, unnecessarily. Mrs. Johnson placed a hand on my back and bent me over. "Now, dear," she instructed, "please reach back and hold your skirts out of the way. Jessica?" Mrs. Johnson asked, "You decide. Should I spank her on her panties? Or bare bottom."

"Mother!" Jessica gasped, getting up and looking at me with wild eyes. "I'm leaving."

"Please don't leave, Jessica," I pleaded.

"But..." she hesitated, then slowly sat back down.

"Indeed. Since you are the aggrieved party, Jessica, you should stay and witness Melissa's punishment. Now I suppose, since this is a first offence, a nice firm spanking on her panties will be sufficient," Mrs. Johnson continued. "I think that 10 nice, hard spanks will be appropriate. Are you ready, Melissa?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I squeaked, feeling awkward and exposed, bending over and holding the hem of my skirts up to expose my pantied bottom clad in practical light-pink nylon house-wifely panties with simple lace trim.

Oh, it stung!!

Mrs. Johnson gave me the first two spanks with her hairbrush, and I let out a yip and dropped my skirts, trying to protect my bottom.

"Now, Melissa. You must hold on to your skirts and keep your hands out of the way while I give you your spanking. Now that you know what to expect, I think you'll do better, now won't you?"

"Y-y-yes, Ma'am," I said, grasping my skirts and reassuming the position.

"Now, since you interfered, I think we'll have to start from the beginning, don't you? Also, let's have you count your spanks. Yes, I think that's appropriate, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I agreed, with a gulp. "One!" I said, surprised again at how much it stung.

As the spanking continued, I looked up at Jessica, and our eyes met. Jessica was rooted to her seat, watching me intently, a mask of undisguised lust on her face. Her body tensed every time I was spanked, not in sympathy, but in pleasure.

"Ten," I said, quivering with sexual tension and emotion, my eyes moist.

"There, you're all done. Now, have you learned your lesson, Melissa? That you must always keep all your promises, to both Jessica and me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, contrite and sniffling. "I have learned my lesson."

"I have to go!" Jessica said suddenly, getting up. She practically ran out the front door.

Jessica jumped into her car and frantically punched up Randy on her cell phone.

" 'sup, babe?" Jessica could hear noise and dance music in the background.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at The Bench doing sound for Jason."

"Oh, right! Sorry, I forgot. Call me when you're done."

"No prob." He hung up.

Shit, Jessica thought to herself. She was so horny it was like a form of madness. She was intoxicated on sex hormones, and the only thought in her brain was 'I NEED TO CUM!' Jessica unbuttoned her pants and slipped a hand into her panties.

"Oh," she moaned loudly as her back arched upwards. Images of Melissa being spanked flashed through her mind. Melissa's face wincing in pain as she obediently held her position and counted out the spanks. Jessica could almost feel the hairbrush in her hand, Melissa standing there obediently for her, Jessica bringing the hairbrush down on Melissa's bare bottom, the skin turning a delightful rosy pink...

"AH!" She screamed as her pleasure peaked, the sound muffled by the car, which rocked back and forth as her body jerked and spasmed.

As she came down from her orgasm, Jessica squeezed her breasts hard and then stroked her body. Her fantasy of having Melissa in her power, submitting to a spanking, continued, and she imagined Melissa kneeling before her, wearing a soft and silky nightgown, swearing her devotion to Jessica, and then holding up a hairbrush for another spanking.

"What?? Oh!" Jessica's hand darted back into her panties. "Oh god! Oh GOD!" She stroked herself to a second orgasm.

"Shit, shit, shit," Jessica muttered, coming down from her second high. This was the first time she had ever had multiple orgasms in her life, she realized.

'I'm a sick puppy,' she thought to herself.

"What am I going to do?" she moaned.

Mrs. Johnson and I watched from the upstairs window of her dark bedroom. From our vantage point, all we could see was Jessica's midsection, but it was obvious what she was doing.

"I told you it would work," Mrs. Johnson said, looking smug. "Now, on to Phase 2."

"Mrs. Johnson?" I asked, as humbly as I could, but feeling anxious and jittery. "May I... May I please release my tensions? My... ah.... sexual tensions?"

"Oh my dear, yes. I think that you may. You've earned it. Now come to bed with me and let me help."

My heart thumped in my chest. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson," I said, demurely.

It didn't take long.

And so I started wearing a maid's uniform. This turned out to be quite often, because I immediately began preparing Jessica's household for her move to Boston. In fact, Mrs. Johnson gave me a second maid's uniform, which I kept at Jessica's row house, and which I would put on whenever working there.

"Why am I helping to pack up Jessica for the move?" I asked Mrs. Johnson. "Isn't that just making it easier for her to leave?"

"Yes, but only on a shallow level. What it does is give us an excuse to increase the number of interactions you two have, which should increase your emotional connections at a deeper level. Does that make sense?"

"I guess..."

But I wasn't sure. It seemed like a dangerous, high-stakes strategy.

And so I gradually went through all of Jessica's apartment, sorting everything into four piles: Take now, take later, charity, and trash. Jessica was first going to check into a long-term-stay hotel and suites, so most everything was "take later". I packed things in boxes and organized with the movers to take them to storage.

All of this occurred over a period of about a month and a half. During this time, I got intimately acquainted with Jessica's things and her habits.

First, she was an absolute slob. Everything was a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, dishes piled high, gross things growing in the refrigerator. Uck. And so, first things first, I cleaned up the entire apartment, scrubbed everything three times, and made sure everything was washed, dried, picked up, and restocked.

I thought that Jessica might have taken this as a hint to be less messy, but for some reason, it encouraged her to do just the opposite! She became even more serious, as if that was possible. Dishes were now left strewn about the apartment, clothes could be anywhere, including under the bed, pizza boxes were on the floor, the sink wasn't rinsed, and dirty sex toys (blush!!) were on the nightstand. I think she was testing me.

And so, with every visit, I would start by becoming the obedient maid, cleaning everything up, making the bed, changing the sheets, doing her laundry and ironing, and putting everything back in order.

And then, at Mrs. Johnson's suggestion, I began to add some personal touches. I added fresh flowers in the kitchen, the master bedroom, and the master bath. I took over some pre-made meals for dinner, with instructions on how to reheat them. I started providing brown-bag lunches for her to eat the next day.

By prior arrangement between Jessica and Mrs. Johnson, I spent all day Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at Jessica's apartment. Mrs. Johnson had to get special dispensation from my Museum Director to change my schedule (I now did tours on Sundays).

They were long, hard, sweaty weeks, but by the end of the summer, I finally felt like I had 'crossed the tipping point' and could see that the end was getting near.

And during all this time, I never ran across Jessica at all.

"How do I know if it's working?" I asked Mrs. Johnson one day after I got home from a particularly arduous day of especially heavy boxes (books from the library).

"It's working," she said simply.

"But how do you know?" I whined.

Mrs. Johnson pulled me onto her lap, kissed me on the cheek, and put her arms around me, pulling me in close.

"I know, because she hasn't said anything."

"What do you mean?"

"Imagine that you're Jessica," she explained. "You come home after a long day at work, and the house is clean and neat. Everything is picked up. The dishes are done. The kitchen is spotless. The bed is made. There's a home-made meal in the fridge. The house smells clean and fresh, with flowers and cooking. When you go to bed, your bedroom is tidy and neat. The bed is made with crisp, clean sheets. And do you know who is responsible for all this?"

"I am?" I asked.

Mrs. Johnson stroked my arm.

"That's right, Melissa, you are," she agreed. "Now imagine that you are Jessica and you wake up in the morning. You go to the bathroom to get ready for the day, and everything is clean and sparkling, the towels are fresh and fluffy, and there are flowers on the counter.

When you're done with your shower, you go back to the bedroom and open the dresser drawers, and there you find fresh panties that have been washed, ironed, and carefully folded by..."

"By me?" I asked.

I was beginning to understand Mrs. Johnson's plan now. I could really imagine what Jessica was feeling and how she might be reacting to all of my work inside her apartment.

"That's right, by you. And so, imagine that you are Jessica, and you select a pair of panties and put them on. Then you select a bra, which is also clean and neatly folded, and you put that on. And maybe you don't think about it consciously (although probably you do), but you just know that all of this luxury -- the luxury of having someone take care of you, that this luxury is thanks to this magical person who comes into your house when you're away and makes sure that everything is clean and folded and put into its proper place.

And that includes all of your clothes, your panties, your bras, your skirts and blouses, and everything is exactly where it's supposed to be, and this makes your life wonderful and easy and such a pleasure.

And you tell yourself that this is only temporary, that you are only 'putting up' with this until you move away, but the truth is that you are starting to like it.

You are starting to enjoy being pampered by this person, this Melissa, who comes in to take care of absolutely everything at home so you can concentrate on work and not have to worry about anything at all except for business. It's like she's your wife already. And you begin to wonder about this person, Melissa, why is she doing this? She obviously puts so much thought and love into everything that she does. She is taking a portion of her life just to make your life more comfortable, organized, and graceful. Why is she doing this?"

"Why?" I ask.

"You tell me. Why are you doing all of these things for Jessica?" Mrs. Johnson asks me.

"Because..." I stopped. "Because... I want to be her wife?"

"But why? Why do you want to be her wife?"

"Because..." I stopped again. This was really hard. "Because I love wearing girly things, and being a housewife, and..."

"And...?"

"And I... because I love her?" I asked.

Mrs. Johnson just looked at me with deep sympathy in her eyes.

"Because I love her," I said again, suddenly realizing how true it was. "I love her," my eyes teared up, and I began to cry. "I love her and she's moving away!!" I cried.

"Shhh, shhh, my dear," Mrs. Johnson cooed, comforting me. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"It hurts so much," I said, my heart breaking.

"Don't you worry," she said. "Jessica hasn't moved yet. And if we're successful, she never will. And if not, then we always have each other."

"Th-th-thank you, M-m-mrs. Johnson," I said, nestling my face into her neck.

"Time to initiate phase 3," she said.

"Phase three?" I asked. "How many phases are there?"

"I don't know. I'm making this up as I go along."