He knew he had to submit to whatever she decided. He had no leverage, no defense. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in. He had to face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be. He was at her mercy, and the thought of that, of being completely and utterly at her mercy, filled him with a chilling sense of dread. He had no idea what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure: it wouldn't be good.

A chilling thought struck Arthur. Had Agnes left? He hadn't heard her leave, but the silence in the house was heavy, oppressive. He felt a flicker of hope, a desperate, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, she would let it go. But deep down, he knew better. Agnes wasn't the kind of woman to sweep something like this under the rug. She was hurt, betrayed, and she would want her pound of flesh.
Then, another, even more terrifying thought occurred to him. Had he been careful enough? Had he deleted all the evidence? He hadn't checked his laptop. He hadn't even considered it in his panic and shame. He had been so focused on the photographs in the album that he had forgotten about the digital files, the ones that could be even more damning.
What was on his laptop? He cringed at the thought. There were more photos, he knew. And not just photos. There were videos, too. And the internet history… what had he been looking at? His stomach churned. He had been so careless, so arrogant, believing he was untouchable, that he could get away with it. Now, he was about to face the consequences.
Just as he was about to get up and check his laptop, Agnes stormed back into the office, her face a mask of fury. She pointed a finger at him, her eyes blazing. "Right," she said, her voice sharp and decisive. "I want to see your internet history and all the photos on your laptop. Now."
Arthur’s heart plummeted. He knew he was done for. He knew the game was up. He stammered, "I…I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb with me, Arthur," Agnes snapped. "I know what you've been doing. I know about the photos. And I know you have more on your laptop."
He could see the fire in her eyes, the unwavering determination. There was no point in denying it. She knew. He was caught.
He hesitated, his mind racing, trying to find a way out, but there was none. He was trapped.
"Give me the laptop," Agnes demanded, her hand outstretched.
He reluctantly handed it over, his fingers trembling. He watched as she opened it, her eyes scanning the screen. He knew what she would find. The photos, the videos, the perverted content that would seal his fate.
Agnes scrolled through the files, her expression hardening with each image she saw. She didn't say a word, but her silence was more terrifying than any outburst. She clicked on the internet history, her eyes narrowing as she read the list of websites he had visited.
Arthur stood there, frozen, waiting for the inevitable. He knew he had crossed the line. He knew he had betrayed Agnes, his friends, and himself. He knew he was about to face the consequences, whatever they may be. He was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't show him any.
"Password," Agnes demanded, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. Arthur, defeated and resigned, mumbled the code. He watched as she typed it in, her fingers moving with a chilling efficiency. He knew what she would find, and the anticipation of the inevitable was almost as painful as the reality itself.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the digital evidence of his depravity. Agnes scrolled through the files, her face growing darker with each image she saw. The internet history was a catalogue of perversion, a testament to his twisted desires. Adult baby websites, fetish forums, and countless other sites that made her stomach churn. She didn't need to say a word. The look on her face said it all.
But it was the photographs that made her blood run cold. Not just the ones from the album, but so many more, hidden away on his hard drive. Photographs of her friends, her dear friends, in the most compromising positions imaginable. Pictures taken underneath tables during Sunday lunch, their legs spread wide, their underwear visible. Photographs taken with hidden cameras in the toilet, capturing their most private moments. Photographs of them lowering their underwear, caught in the act of relieving themselves. The sheer violation of it all was overwhelming.
Agnes was mortified. Not just for herself, but for her friends. These were women she had laughed with, shared secrets with, supported through thick and thin. And this…this pervert, this man she had shared her life with, had been secretly photographing them, exploiting their vulnerability. The betrayal cut deep, a wound that would likely never heal.
She felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She wanted to vomit, to purge herself of the filth she had just witnessed. She wanted to scream, to unleash her rage, her hurt, her disgust. But she remained composed, her face a mask of icy fury.
Arthur stood there, silent and contrite, his eyes fixed on the floor. He knew he had crossed a line, a line from which there was no return. He had betrayed Agnes, he had betrayed her friends, and he had betrayed himself.
Agnes closed the laptop, the click echoing in the silent room. She turned to Arthur, her eyes burning with a cold fire. "You disgust me," she said, her voice low and menacing. "You are a sick, twisted man."
He didn't respond. He couldn't. He knew she was right.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Arthur," she continued, her voice hardening. "But you can be sure of one thing: you will pay for this. You will pay for what you've done."
She picked up the laptop and walked out of the office, leaving Arthur standing there, alone with his shame and his fear. He knew his life had just changed irrevocably. He knew he was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't be merciful.
Monday morning dawned, crisp and clear, but the atmosphere in the house was anything but peaceful. Agnes, dressed in a no-nonsense manner, her face set in a determined expression, summoned Arthur to the living room. He entered, his shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. He knew what was coming.
"We're going to the bank," Agnes stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And then we're going to see a solicitor."
Arthur’s eyes widened. He knew what this meant. He was about to lose everything.
"I want all the joint bank accounts transferred to my name," Agnes continued, her gaze unwavering. "I want all the investments transferred to my name. And I want the house transferred to my name."
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Agnes cut him off. "You have forfeited the right to have any say in these matters," she said, her voice cold and hard. "You have betrayed my trust, and you will pay the price."
He looked at her, his face a mask of despair. He knew he had no choice. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.
"I will, however," Agnes added, a hint of steel in her voice, "give you an allowance. Twenty pounds a week. Pocket money."
The word "pocket money" hung in the air, dripping with condescension. Arthur felt a wave of humiliation wash over him. He, a man who had managed substantial finances for decades, reduced to receiving a paltry sum of pocket money from his wife.
He nodded silently, accepting his fate. He knew it could be worse. She could have left him with nothing. But the humiliation, the sheer indignity of it all, was almost unbearable.
"Now," Agnes said, her voice brooking no further delay, "let's go."
They went to the bank, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. Arthur meekly signed the doc-uments, transferring everything to Agnes’s name. He felt like a ghost, a shadow of his former self. He had lost everything – his respect, his dignity, his financial security.
After the bank, they went to see a solicitor, where the house transfer was finalized. Agnes now owned everything. She was in complete control.
As they left the solicitor’s office, Agnes turned to Arthur, her eyes still cold and hard. "This is just the beginning," she said, her voice low and menacing. "Your punishment is yet to be decided."
Arthur shivered. He knew she was right. This was just the first step. He had no idea what she had planned for him, but he knew it wouldn't be good. He had humiliated her, and she would make him pay. The thought of what she might do filled him with dread. He was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't show him any.

As Agnes and Arthur walked up the High Street, the power dynamic between them was palpable. Agnes strode confidently, her head held high, a newfound strength radiating from her. She felt in control, proud of the steps she had taken to reclaim her life. Her posture, her gait, everything about her exuded an air of authority.
Arthur, on the other hand, shuffled along beside her, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. He was a picture of dejection, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He was acutely aware of the precariousness of his situation, the knowledge of his perversion hanging over him like a dark cloud.
Just then, two women, familiar faces, stopped to chat with Agnes. They were friends, women whose privacy Arthur had so heinously violated. He recognized them instantly, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that Agnes could expose him at any moment. She could tell them everything, reveal his secret, and shatter his already fragile world.
He watched them, his anxiety growing with each passing second, as they exchanged pleasantries with Agnes. He could feel their eyes on him, though they gave no indication of knowing his dark secret. He imagined their reactions if they knew the truth, the shock, the disgust, the anger. The thought of their judgment, their scorn, made him tremble.
Agnes, he could tell, was enjoying his discomfort. She was playing with him, savoring her power. She knew his fear, and she was using it to her advantage.
When the women finished their conversation and walked away, Agnes turned to Arthur, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "I could have just told them," she said, her voice soft, but laced with a chilling undertone. "About your…private activities. And you would have been arrested."
The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He knew she was right. She had the power to destroy him with a single word. The knowledge of his perversion, the photographs, the videos – it was all in her hands.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn't say anything. He couldn't.
Agnes continued walking, her pace steady, her expression unreadable. She had made her point. She had shown him just how much power she wielded. And he knew, with a sinking heart, that this was just the beginning. His punishment was far from over. It had, in fact, just begun.

She began to formulate a plan, a way to punish him without punishing herself.  It wouldn't be easy.  She would have to be careful, methodical.  She would have to think several steps ahead.  But she was determined.  She would make him pay.
The humiliation he had inflicted on her, on her friends, on his female colleagues – it wouldn't go unpunished.  He was the one who should be humiliated now.  He was the one who should feel the shame, the disgust, the fear.
Agnes thought about the photos, the secret, the power they gave her.  She thought about the pension, the cottage, the comfortable life he had jeopardized.  She thought about the gossip, the whispers, the judgment of the village.  And she knew what she had to do.
She wouldn't expose him publicly, not yet.  That would come later, perhaps.  For now, she would use what she knew to her advantage.  She would use it to control him, to manipulate him, to make him squirm.  She would make him regret what he had done.
She would start subtly, small things at first.  A pointed comment about privacy, a pointed glance at his desk.  She would watch his reaction, gauge his fear.  She would let him know, without explicitly saying it, that she knew his secret.
Then, she would turn the screws.  She would use the information to get what she wanted.  The cottage by the sea?  It would be hers, solely in her name.  The pension?  She would make sure she was well taken care of, regardless of what happened to him.  She would take control of their finances, their future.
And as for the humiliation… that would be the final act.  She would choose her moment, the perfect time to reveal his perversion to the world.  She would make sure he suffered the consequences of his actions, the full weight of public shame and disgust.  He would be the laughing stock, not her.
Agnes felt a sense of cold satisfaction.  She had a plan, a way to reclaim her power, to punish the man who had betrayed her.  It wouldn't be easy, but she was ready.  She was ready to fight back.  She was ready to make him pay.
Sunday afternoon arrived, heavy with a tense quiet that hung in the air like a storm cloud.  Agnes, dressed in her Sunday best, a floral dress that felt strangely out of place in the current atmosphere, returned from church with a grim determination etched on her face.  The sermon, usually a source of comfort, had only amplified her anger, the words of forgiveness and compassion ringing hollow in her ears.  Forgiveness was the furthest thing from her mind.
She entered Arthur’s office, the room that now felt like a crime scene, and carefully laid out the photographs on his desk.  Each image, a snapshot of his betrayal, was placed meticulously, a silent accusation.  She wanted him to see them all, to confront the full extent of his perversion.
Then, she called him in.  Her voice was level, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside her.  “Arthur, could you come in here for a moment, please?”
He entered, a slight frown creasing his brow.  He probably thought she wanted to discuss the garden or the upcoming village fete.  He had no idea what awaited him.
As he stood before her, Agnes gestured towards the desk.  “Take a look,” she said, her voice hardening.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he took in the photographs, his face flushing crimson.  He stammered, “I…I can explain…”
“Explain what, Arthur?” Agnes interrupted, her voice laced with scorn.  “Explain how you could do this?  How you could violate the privacy of these women, my friends, your colleagues?”
He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.  “It wasn’t like that,” he mumbled.  “It was just…a bit of fun.”
“Fun?” Agnes’s voice rose, her anger finally breaking through the carefully constructed facade.  “Is that what you call it?  A bit of fun?  Taking pictures of women in such a private, vulnerable moment?  Is that your idea of a joke?”
He remained silent, his head bowed in shame.
“You disgust me, Arthur,” Agnes continued, her voice trembling with rage.  “You have betrayed my trust, you have humiliated me, you have violated these women.  You are a pervert, Arthur.  A dirty, disgusting pervert.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting.  Agnes didn’t hold back.  She wanted him to feel the full weight of her contempt.  She wanted to strip him bare, to expose his weakness, his perversion, to the world.
“I…I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Sorry?” Agnes scoffed.  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Arthur.  Sorry doesn’t erase what you’ve done.  Sorry doesn’t fix the damage you’ve caused.”
She picked up one of the photographs, the one of Margaret, her closest friend.  “Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion.  “Do you have any idea how this makes her feel?”
He shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and fear.
Agnes threw the photograph back onto the desk.  “You’ve humiliated yourself, Arthur,” she said, her voice now cold and hard.  “You’ve humiliated me.  And you’ve humiliated these women.  And you will pay for it.”

“How dare you Georgie!” she screamed at me , walked over to me, grabbed a ruler off the table and started slapping at my bulge. Oh how it hurt, each slap hitting my willy or my balls, quickly causing it to subside.
 
“You are an utter disgrace Georgie, getting all lustful over Mrs Grossman who is simply doing her job. It is oafish, disrespectful and sexist. You are going to be published severely for this.”
 
Mrs Grossman was looking all upset and said,
 
“I am in shock Eleanor, I feel violated, getting all tumescent before me. I have the measurements, I think I may have to ask you both to leave, so I can compose myself.”
 
“Of course Heather, I am so sorry for what Georgie has put you through, you can rest assured that there will be a just punishment for this outrage and we will work out a way he can make it up to you. Once again accept my apologies.”
 
Mother barked at me “get dressed quickly Georgie!”
 
She put her arm around Mrs Grossman to comfort her as I got dressed than grabbed me by the earlobe and marched me out.
 
The drive home was hell. Mother wouldn’t stop berating me.
 
“You have shamed and humiliated me as well as yourself Georgie! So grossly displaying your carnal rage in front of Mrs Grossman! What will Deborah think when I tell her, that you are lusting over other women behind her back! It is a gross betrayal of my daughter and a breaking of your sacred marriage vows! Also it is outright sexual harassment Georgie! I win’t be surprised if Mrs Grossman call the police. You oafish brute! Just when I thought we may be getting somewhere with you. Believe me you are going to regret this!”
 
I couldn’t believe she was going to tell Deborah, I felt so ashamed of myself. Mother had me gripped in fear. I was marched into the house and told to stand in the corner with my hands on my head. I was made to wait what seemed like half an hour or more. I heard Mother enter the room from behind.
 
“Turn around, panties down, Pinafore up!”
 
I lifted my panties down and my frightened little willy was exposed.
 
“Put out your hand Georgie.”
 
Mother than started pouring Tobasco sauce all over my hand.
 
“Now rub that into your willy.”
 
I started to rub and at first it felt nothing, but moments later the heat began to build. Mother kept splashing more sauce on it.
 
“Rub it into the balls too Georgie!” Her voice was cold and angry.
 
“Yes Mother.”
 
Soon it was a burning agony, but she wouldn’t stop. The heat got stronger and stronger and I started sobbing, crouching over. This was hellfire! The heat was excruciating! Tears began to form and roll down my eyes.
 
“That’s it cry like the big girl you really are, you are a fraud as a man. Thinking you can lust over other woman. This is what happens to husbands who are unfaithful!”
 
The torture went on for what seemed like an hour and I was sent back to the corner. Mother returned again.
 
“C’mon out again Georgie and turn around.”
 
My shrivelled red willy was looking like a coc-ktail frankfurt.
 
Mother then started to peg clothes pegs on my willy and balls. Each time one clipped on it hurt like the blazes! But to make it worse she kept moving them around. The releasing of the peg hurt even more than the putting on for some reason. The one on the tip of my willy hurt the most and she began to flick it back and forth with her manicured fingernail. It pinched tighter and tighter as she flicked and eventually slipped off. The relief was massive but she just said,
 
“Oh no, I wasn’t finished, Lets put it back on.” She clipped the peg back on the tip of my willy and the agony was repeated over and over.
 
After that ordeal it was back in the corner again to once more contemplate my predicament and feel sorry for myself. It was another miserable humiliating wait in the corner with my hands on head and my willy aching. It was red as a beet, shrivelled and covered in pinch marks. Mother returned sometime later.
 
“Right Georgie, I just had a long chat with Deborah on the phone and to put it mildly she is utterly disgusted and disappointed in you! Her initial reaction was to file for divorce immediately for this gross act of infidelity. However I persuaded her that there may be one solution to your problem. You see in the early days of my marriage with Deborah’s father I walked into the garage and caught him masturbating over a Playboy magazine. I was rightly infuriated, disgusted and  angry with him for his sinful act of betrayal, just as Deborah is feeling about your sinful act. However a good friend of mine, Mabel White introduced me to the Tollboy chastity device.”
 
She was holding a box in her hands, about the size of a mobile phone box.
 
“Once I had Deborah’s Father locked up and under my control he became a dream husband. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this with you Georgie but after your performance today you leave me with no option. Luckily I kept his device and now it will be going on you. Hopefully this will do the trick to stem your awful lustful ways. Step over here.”
 
I stepped over and she proceeded to fit the device. My willy was still very sore and the fitting was made extra uncomfortable and when the sensitive spots rubbed on the device it reignited the pain. Once locked, Mother fitted the key on the chain she wore around her neck.
 
“I will be holding the key from now on Georgie. I spoke to Deborah who agrees even when she gets back it is best if I hold it, due to the experience I have in these matters. The only time, and I mean only time you may ask to have it removed is if you are going to be doing something like a doctors appointment where it may have to be shown or if you suspect it may be causing an injury. Otherwise any pleading will result in longer before it is allowed to be removed. If Deborah wants to use your willy, she will have to come to me first.”
 
Her mention of Deborah had me worried, it was awful not to be able to give her my side of the story. I wasn’t lusting after Mrs Grossman, it was just a physical reaction to being touched and I hadn’t had any sexual outlet for days. Thinking of Deborah though made me aroused but my first attempt at an erection was painful as the device crushed it. It was a feeling I was going to get very used to.
 
“OK Georgie, you can make me dinner, than wash up. Then an hour of ironing and an hour of scripture homework before bed. Oh I nearly forgot you detention is due in the morning as well. You can do that after you report to me with your Scripture homework. No dinner for you tonight. Chop Chop!”
 
With that I scurried off to the kitchen. My level of humiliation, misery and submission raised yet another notch.

This Story is a classic.

We arrived 20 minutes before the service and it looked like we were the first there. Before we went in Mother laid down the law.

“You will address Pastor Vorster as Pastor Vorster each time you speak to her. You will address other parishioners as Sir or Madam until you find out their Surname and then you greet them as Mister, Mrs or Miss and use their surname understand?”

“Yes Mother.”

“You will fully participate in the service, praying and singing every hymn, understand?”

“Yes Mother.”

 This was going to be a stressful service for me I thought to myself.

We walked in and were about to take our seat, when from out of the vestry came a tall imposing figure of a woman. She was wearing the collar of a priest and a dark shirt, She had neat short blond hair and was wearing glasses that seemed to add to her authoritarian disposition. She greeted us.

“Good Morning, Its great to see some new faces!” She smiled broadly at us and spoke in a strong South African accent.

“Good Morning Pastor, my name is Eleanor Falwell and this is my son in law George.”

Pastor Vorster proffered her hand in greeting and I shook it.

“Pleased to meet you Pastor.” Mother then spoke,

“I have just moved here from Melbourne and my daughter has given me the task of training George here to be a better husband. One of the things I insist on is regular church attendance and active participation in the parish. He used to attend Church every Sunday when he was courting my daughter but since moving to Sydney he has led my daughter astray and not only let his faith go but become a burden on my daughter and a lay about around the house. I hope You may be able to help me with his re education into the faith.”

“Of Course Eleanor! That is so good of you to want to save your son in laws soul as wells as your daughters marriage, I am sure I can be of help with that, I run the correspondence courses for the whole archdiocese, I have a wealth of resources for George. There are courses, assignments essays and examinations we can enroll him in.”

“Thank you so much Pastor, that will be a much better use of George’s free time then going out drinking or lazing about watching TV! George will be more than happy to volunteer to help around the parish as well, won’t you George?”

I knew what I must say.

“Yes Pastor, please if there is anything I can do just ask.”

“Well that is an offer too good to refuse, I am afraid my parish is mostly women so a man to help around the place will be a Godsend. You must come on Wednesday evenings and join the Altar Society, they are a fine group of ladies who keep the church spic and span.”

“George will come straight after work, consider him yours every Wednesday evening from now on.”

“Fantastic, make sure you meet Mrs Fairweather before you go home who is in charge of the Altar Society then come and see me after the service and I will get George the first module of our Scripture study course so he can start straight away.”

“Thank You so much Pastor.”

“What do you say George? Mother nudged me in the ribs.

“Thank You Pastor Vorster.”

For the next hour I sat ramrod straight and tried to give the service my full attention. Pastor Vorster’s brand of Christianity seemed very old fashioned and strict. Hers was a harsh judgmental God, who demanded sacrifices. self control and patient suffering. She spoke about the virtues of temperance and chastity, of self sacrifice and obedience to those in positions of authority. Mother than gave me a nudge in the ribs, indicating that She has now in a position of authroity over me

Pastor Vorster went on, saying that for students to be doing God’s will, they must obey their teachers and for those undertaking education as adults should be doing their very best to listen and do what their teachers expected. It was at that stage it seemed both Pastor Vorster and Mother were looking at me. It was a look that said. “This message is for you!” The sermon went on to say how suffering now would be rewarded in heaven and must be accepted without resentment in this world. Each of us has our own crosses that we must take up like Christ our Saviour.

Her enthusiasm at that stage was reaching a crescendo and she had made shaking in fear. The final hymn began and I was given another nudge for not singing loud enough.

After Church, Mother introduced herself and me to the matrons. There was a genuine consensus of what a ‘saint’ Mother was for taking on my training in her retirement. I was introduced to the head of the Altar Society, Mrs Fairweather a fierce looking matron with her hair tied back in a bun. When she heard about Mother training me she heartily approved and said, “I hope you are grateful for what your Mother in law is doing for you, if it wasn’t for her you marriage would be in tatters, what a wonderful opportunity for you to save it and your sould in the process. You’d be well advised doing everything she asks of you”

“I am very grateful Mrs Fairweather.”

“Now Pastor has said you have kindly volunteered to help the ladies of the Altar Society.”
Before I could even say anything, Mother spoke up,

“That is right Mrs Fairweather, George will be at your service every Wednesday night, he will be able to come straight from work. If he is not here by 5:30 p.m. sharp be sure to let me know.”

“Happy to oblige Mrs Falwell. Now George I am in charge of the Altar Society so report to me on arrival and I will tell you your duties.”

“Yes Mrs Fairweather.”

“I give you total charge of him while he is your care Mrs Fairweather, be sure to work him hard, I think it is high time he made amends for all those years he has neglected his faith by doing a little service for the Church If you would be kind enough to call me and give me a report after each Wednesday night I would greatly appreciate it”

“It would be a pleasure, and don’t you worry about me not working him hard, there is mountains of polishing to do! Anyway I must head off, It was a pleasure to meet you Mrs Falwell.”

Then turning to me she added,

 â€œAnd by the way George, I just love those slacks you are wearing.”

She patted me on the bottom as she said it and the matrons gathered all gave a giggle. I was once more awash with embarrassment and cast my gaze to the ground to avoid eye contact. Mother then said,

“Look at Mrs Fairweather when she talks to you!”

“And I will be seeing you on Wednesday, straight after work!”

I looked at Mrs Fairweather and felt like melting away, my shame was so great, but I managed a very humble,

“Yes Mrs Fairweather.”

I would soon come to dread Wednesday nights and working under Mrs Fairweather’s supervision. That is another chapter of this story for another day! Before we went home we had to wait to see Pastor Vorster. I stood there silently as Mother made pleasant conversation with the other ladies. I kept quiet and only spoke if spoken to . As the Pastor fare-welled the last of the congregation she walked towards us,

“Ah my new parishioners, it is so good to have some new blood.”

Mother than spoke,

“You said to ask you about the Scripture course for George.”

“Oh, yes thats right, I nearly forgot, come with me to the Rectory.”

We walked into her office, there was a huge mahogany desk and the room was completely surrounded by books on shelves. Pastor Vorster reached up and grabbed a very thick manual.

“OK George, we will enroll you in the ‘Scripture for Moderns” course. Each week you will work through one chapter and complete the exercises for that chapter. If you hand them in to me on Friday evening , I will have them marked for you by Sunday when you come to church.”

She handed me the thick manual.

“You do have a bible at home I take it.”

“Ah,,,ah,,,yes.. I think so. Pastor”

Mother then raised her voice.

“YOU THINK SO! You better have my boy or there will be a thrashing when we get home!”

I was shocked to hear Mother mention discipline in front of the Pastor and I thought Pastor Vorster would be horrified.”


‘Glad to hear you are not afraid to use the rod on the boy, too many so called Christians have shied away from corporal punishment, but it is clear that is fully endorsed by scripture.”


I was shocked to say the least, thinking this style of Christianity belonged to the Dark Ages and started to think where in hell I would have put my Bible, it was a wedding present from Mother and I hoped I still had it. Pastor Vorster handed me the manual and I leafed through the first chapter, there must have been over 25 pages of reading, followed by 20 questions and a 2000 word assignment, I was starting to think I could kiss any free time goodbye if I was to complete this in a week. Mother than spoke.

“I would like George to do two chapters a week instead of one.”

“That is what I like to see a conscientious student. Two chapters a week it is,”

I was shellshocked to say the least. How did Mother expect me to do so much! I had so many chores to do and now this, it was too much. I was dumbfounded. Mother had to give me a nudge in the ribs to shake me out of it,

“What do you say to Pastor Vorster George?”

“Thank you Pastor Vorster.”

“It’s a pleasure George but the person you will be thanking is Lilly ”

She then buzzed on the intercom and a moment later another lady entered the study. She was dressed conservatively in a long skirt, long sleeved button to the neck blouse, a cardigan and also wore very old fashioned glasses. Her hair was tied in plaits. Pastor Vorster said,

“Lilly, let me introduce you to Mrs Falwell and her son in law George.”

The way Lilly greeted us and behaved it soon became clear that she was mild mannered and subservient to Pastor Vorster. It turned out Lilly was a spinster who devoted all her free time to the church. She had completed the whole correspondence course with the best marks ever recorded in the Archdiocese.

I was then told Lilly would be supervising and marking my work and I had to have it handed in by 8 am every Saturday morning at Lilly’s place who would report my progress to Mother and Pastor Vorster at Sunday service. At first I was relieved, I thought this meek mannered girl would be a pushover compared to the other ladies but I would soon find out that despite her meek and very pleasant manner that she would be an extreme stickler for the correct answer and be a very hard marker! After a brief run down from Lilly of what was expected to be completed by next Saturday it was time to go.

“We must head off now, we have to get Brenda to the airport, then I want to look for a maids dress.”

“A maids dress for George did you say?”

“Thats right, I am a firm believer in petticoat discipline to train the unruly husband.”

“You certainly are a woman after my own heart, nothing like getting a man in a dress to rid him of his evil arrogance. I think I may be able help you there, we have an extremely accomplished seamstress in the parish, Mrs Grossman, she played the organ at the service this morning, I am sure she would be more than willing to help you, it would be very hard to find something that fitted well straight off the rack in a store, I can ring her now if you wish.”

“That would be fantastic Pastor, thank you so much”

My humiliation was complete, I must have been as red as a beetroot. While I was already dressed in a slightly feminine way I did not think Mother would disclose this aspect of my training to Pastor Vorster and now to the organist and my new supervisor Lilly as well. Pastor picked up the phone and made the call. Before I knew it arrangements had been made. Mother would be taking me to Mrs Grossman’s house after we dropped off Brenda to take my measurements and discuss what style dress.

“I cannot believe how fortunate we have been to end up in your parish Pastor, the help you are provided me in training Georgie has been immeasurable!”

This was the first time Mother had referred to me as Georgie in the Pastor Vorster’s presence and if I was flushed red before I was now burning up with embarrassment. To top it off I was going to be exposed as a sissy maid to Mrs Grossman later in the day, the humiliation was torturous.

“It is an absolute pleasure, after all it is my mission to serve my parishioners especially when they are involved in such wonderful work as saving marriages and turning selfish wayward males into useful Christian husbands.”

The fierce look that the Pastor gave me as she said those words in her strong South African accent definitely put the fear of God into me. I thanked her once again and after saying Goodbye to both of them I followed Mother back to the car, my head hanging despondently. In the short space of one Church service my life had been turned upside down. This however was just the start of it.