More fool he.

Helen, the kinky little minx, had divulged her plan to me while we were supping our wine, and even I blanched at the ferocity of her imagination. For an instant, though it was only an instant, I felt sorry for poor Mr Loverman. He stood before us, trying hard to look humble and contrite and full of fear, but I knew him too well by now, and knew it wasn't genuine.

"I guess you're expecting a spanking, Mr Loverman?" I enquired. He nodded, trying slightly too hard to look concerned and instead giving the appearance of a televangelist with indigestion. "Wrong!" I replied. A flicker of concern crossed his features as he observed the look of amusement on my face. I turned as Helen entered the room from the bathroom.

In her hand was a jar of KY Jelly and a long handled broom.

Mr Loverman looked in terror, a visible veil of white descending over his face. It was a most rewarding response.

"Here I am," Helen said. "The cleaning lady, the one you never give the time of day to, the one you don't even acknowledge exists, the one who is too lowly for you to bother with, you stuck up piece of shit." I had to give it to her, she was getting into the part. "Well, the tables have turned, Mr Loverman" - she spat out his name with commendable vigour - "and I'm going to make sure you never forget the cleaning lady you thought was beneath you."

I could see that Mr Loverman was calculating what might happen to him, his eyes hovering from the KY Jelly towards the broom and back again. I decided to put him out of his misery.

"Tell him what you're going to do."

"With pleasure." She stepped up close to him, her chin hovering around his chest. "You seemed to think that cleaners were beneath you. But I'm told that you've developed quite a skill for it yourself in the last week or so. I'm going to find out for myself." She stopped and opened the jar of KY Jelly. "I'm going to turn you into a cleaner, Mr Loverman." She picked up the broom meaningfully. "Literally."

She took the broom handle and smeared it with Jelly. Mr Loverman's eyes divulged something close to panic by now.

"Bend over."

He refused, as I thought he might. He wasn't given time to linger on his disobedience, however, as Helen struck out and grabbed him by the cock cage. She twisted viciously and Mr Loverman emitted a shrill yelp of pain. Pushing his back, she forced him down onto the settee and hit him hard over the buttocks with the broom. Finding this to her liking, she repeated it half a dozen times, by which time Mr Loverman had become mollified. She handed him the KY Jelly.

"Wipe that over yourself. Lots of it, I would recommend." Whimpering, Mr Loverman did as he was told, pressing his fingers up his anus and spreading the jelly liberally, ready for the onslaught. "Are you ready?" Helen asked when he was finished. He nodded. Tutting loudly, she slapped him on the head. "Answer me properly!" I tell you, this girl was a natural. I watched in admiration.

"Yes, My Lady, I'm ready."

"For what?"

"To be turned into a cleaner, My Lady." With that, Helen gripped the broom, spread more jelly on it, and presented it to Mr Loverman's arse.

"Get ready," she warned and pressed it hard against him. He grunted as she pushed forward, his natural defence mechanisms causing his muscles to contract and deny the alien object entrance.

"You need to relax, Mr Loverman," I warned him. Easier said than done, I grant you.

Helen continued to press and with a sudden jolt the broom found its way past his ring and into his anus. Mr Loverman screamed at the violation and Helen pushed harder, forcing a good two or three inches inside him.

"There we are," Helen said triumphantly. "Stand up, Mr Cleaner." Mr Loverman rose gingerly, his eyes watering and a look of consternation on his face. The broom hung obscenely from his backside at a shallow angle, the head resting on the carpet, as though ready to be used. "Now, you see," Helen continued, "you can dust and clean with your hands, and sweep up all at the same time. Let's see if it works."

She grabbed Mr Loverman's arm and pulled him forward. The brush, firmly attached to his rear, bobbled along behind. As a cleaning implement it was useless; as a means of tormenting Mr Loverman it was unbeatable. She walked him round the room in circles, the broom dragging behind. On a couple of occasions it caught on the furniture and pulled agonisingly at Mr Loverman's rear. Helen, pragmatist that she is, simply gripped it and twisted it back into position, further increasing the poor mite's torment, and made him start again. It was a sight to see, and I was left breathless by Helen's audacity, not to mention Mr Loverman's capacity to withstand pain.

Helen led him through the house, making sure he "swept up" to her satisfaction everywhere. All the while she chastised him for his inconsiderate manner towards her, ratcheting up the humiliation he was being forced to endure. When, at last, she had tired of abusing him so mercilessly, she returned to the living room and sat down.

"I'm all hot and tired after that," she said slyly. "I think, now that the house has been tidied up, our little cleaning man needs to come over here and clean me up. Here Mr Loverman, come here."