When I got home Jess was in bed, alone. I crept in and slid under the covers as quietly as I could.
"Hope you enjoyed yourself," she said.
I froze.
"Because tomorrow your punishment starts."
I waited expectantly. I wanted to know what was in store for me, but too afraid to ask. I was deathly afraid that it would involve Pete. I laid awake a long time, thinking of what tomorrow would bring. I could not face Pete in person after being caught peeping on him with Jess. But I couldn't deny how sexy it was watching them together. The image of them making out in the entryway was burned into my brain. At this point I had a raging hard on. It took a long time to fall asleep.
When we woke up Jess said, "Make me some breakfast." I didn't argue, just scurried into the kitchen and made bacon and eggs. When I placed it in front of her, she said, "Now clean the apartment." I wasn't excited about spending my Saturday cleaning, but I was somewhat relieved that this was to be my punishment, and all was apparently forgiven.
Several times while I was cleaning she inspected my work, and of course it was never good enough. She made me scrub the floors three times, and clean the toilet twice. She made me strip the bed and wash the bedding, "so it will be clean for my lover." That was my first indication what my real punishment was going to be.
After a full day of cleaning, the apartment was spotless. I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. Almost immediately Jess called to me from the bedroom, "Come in here and help me get dressed."
I went in to the bedroom. She was fresh from the bath, wrapped in a towel and standing in front of her closet looking through her clothes. "Go get me a bra and some underwear," she said. I went to her dresser and took out a matching white bra and panties and brought them to her.
"Not those," she said. "Something sexy."
I went back to the drawer and picked out a lacy blue bra and matching undies. When I brought them to her, she nodded, dropped her towel and said, "Now put them on me."
She stood fully nude before me, her full breasts jutting out, her trim patch of blonde pussy hair on display. She was casual in her nudity, like a model changing clothes, and I was her dressing room attendant. I had watched her get dressed many times before, but I discovered it's actually quite difficult to dress a woman. I slipped her hands through the bra straps and tried to put the bra in place on her breasts. She slapped at my hands and did it herself, clasping the bra around her upper chest and then pulling it down over her boobs.
Putting her panties on was easier, as I held them out and she stepped into them, and then I pulled them up over her hips. She adjusted them into place and then handed me a dress, which I pulled on over her arms and head. The dress was very short and barely went down past her butt cheeks. She adjusted it in the mirror, posing for herself and turning this way and that, admiring herself.
She barely acknowledged me throughout the dressing process. She seemed entirely unconcerned about me sharing this very private moment of preparing for her date. It felt oddly intimate, to be treated like an assistant whose job was to help her dress, nothing more. My opinion was not sought, and if I found her body stimulating it did not matter to her one way or another. Even though I was technically her boyfriend, I was keenly aware I was helping to make her look good for her fuck buddy.
As she was putting on her makeup, the doorbell rang. My heart leaped in my chest. Instinctively I started thinking of where I could hide.
Jess casually said, "Go get the door." I stood there like a fool, my mouth open. She turned from the mirror and scowled at me. "Get the door," she repeated, now with an edge of command.
