Due to Marge being far more mature than I and from a cultivated background, I subconsciously knew my place in the pecking order and felt like I was a chimney-sweeping peasant who was there to serve Royalty. Marge was a dominant character and I felt myself enjoying being submissive and serving her. I wanted to please her, and even though I wasn't physically attracted to her, there was something psychologically attractive about her and the power she possessed over me that was asserting dominance.
With that, I was pleased to find out that I would be starting on Monday, and given that it was Saturday, I moved my stuff over from the motel whilst I had spare time. That evening, around 6pm, Marge explained that "we" were attending church the following morning and, in doing so, she was making decisions for me already. Normally I hated church yet there was something inside me that enjoyed my choices being dictated to and also the fact I wanted to do my best to please Marge ( After all, she was putting a much-needed roof over my head and I appreciate the stability.)
Considering we had an early start tomorrow morning; it was time to bath and get ready for bed. The ordeal was making me feel like a child again, and emotions were flooding back to me I hadn't experienced in years; I enjoyed the comfort and restoration of innocence. Marge directed me to one of the several bathrooms throughout the property, and sitting on a chair were a pair of baby blue cotton pyjamas. I was a bit of a rebel and skater boy at heart who normally wouldn't be seen dead in them. The pyjamas were very tight and made me feel like a total dork; especially because I wasn't just sent to bed straight away. I spent an hour in the living room with Marge before bedtime as she gave me a tour through some of the photos on her walls; meanwhile, the whole time, I felt so embarrassed, humiliated and aroused by wearing these pyjamas. The thought of any visitors or anyone else dropping by and seeing me like this, not to mention the combover-styled hair that Marge instructed me to wear, put me on edge. Thankfully, I later found out that Marge was a recluse and loner, which made me feel safe and protected, and her decrepit mansion was a safe haven between us.
The following morning came and went and I found it difficult to pay attention in church as the priest droned on about irrelevant nonsense. Marge had provided some Sunday best attire that belonged to a grown and long-nephew of hers. The grey shorts came up above the knee and rested halfway down my thigh showing plenty of skin. White socks pulled up 2" below my kneecap and, of course - shirt tucked in with black leather school shoes. The shoes made me feel disciplined and like a total momma's boy in the pre-WW2 era. Much to my relief, I was living in a different state in a new town and would never see anyone I knew. It was revitalising in a way that I was so free from judgment, and none of the nosey clowns from my old life could make comparisons and criticise me. After the service, Marge's contemporaries (all older women), whom we sat around and had cake and drank tea with, were all so impressed with my manners and how I addressed Marge as "Ma'am."
We left the service, and I was feeling cocky and well-pleased with myself as Marge and I made the short stroll around the corner and back to her home. During the walk, I noticed her demeanour change and she appeared slightly moody (as if she had something on her mind.)
Once we got inside, Marge sat me down and informed me there was something she needed to talk to me about and I felt my heart race. She began to grill me about not paying attention in church and how sinful it was. She gestured to the crucifix on the wall and kept mentioning how Jesus suffered a lot of pain on the cross, only for me to be unable to concentrate. I expressed my most sincere apologies and asked how I could be forgiven when Marge stated that only Jesus could forgive me and I needed to ask for forgiveness. Marge then rose to her feet and said, "Come along," and marched me over to the corner where the crucifix was and told me to kneel and close my eyes. Marge instructed me to pray for 5 minutes, close my eyes and seek repentance for my sins.
The entire ordeal felt completely normalised, and there was nothing unusual about it. To Marge, I suppose the insanity of the ordeal was normal; however, I'm certain there were sadistic undertones, and religion was just a scapegoat for a more sinister agenda.
As I was kneeling - I felt so submissive and inferior as I listened to the grandfather clock tick and willifully prayed for forgiveness. My heart was racing, and I'd never felt so alive. I couldn't help but anticipate what was to come, given that my current predicament was so bizarre.
Just as my knees began to hurt, Marge instructed: "To your feet," and I quickly rose. Marge then ordered me to stand in the corner and lean forward and then remarked, "To ensure we don't have a repeat episode of today's behaviour, it's important to put in place appropriate disciplinary measures; after all, Jesus also went through pain for the forgiveness of the world's sins."
Marge then produced a large cane and began tapping it in her palm. I was faintly excited and aroused but never alluded to this and continued to lean forward in my tight grey shorts; my only response was "Yes, ma'am" to anything Marge said.
