Synopsis: Ongoing humiliations and subjugation of former successful lawyer turned maid, along with some fellow submissives.
As winter turned into spring, I took stock of the fact that a year had passed since Jason and Lauren engineered my downfall--or (why mince words?) my enslavement.
Finalization of Lauren's and my divorce took a little longer than expected, but it became official the last week of March. Jason and Lauren celebrated with a romantic, candlelit dinner for two at the mansion. Wearing one my most formal serving uniforms, I served them champagne, followed by the beef bourguignon I had prepared along with one of the best bottles of wine from my former wine cellar (2010 Chateau Rayas Chateauneuf Du Pape Reserve). I stood at attention by their table as they ate, kissed and talked about their future together. I was not invited to join them in the bedroom that night.
As they walked off to their bedroom after dinner, Lauren looked over her shoulder and said to me, "Nice job with dinner tonight, Gregory. You are a much better maid than you ever were a husband, or a father."
"Thank you, mistress," I replied, curtsying, surprised to feel tears well up in my eyes.
While I was not presented with an Easter bunny costume at Easter (to my pleasant surprise), I did not escape the holiday free of humiliation with respect to my attire. As I rushed around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on Easter Sunday dinner (glazed ham, grilled asparagus, scalloped potatoes and deviled eggs), I had to be careful not to spill anything on my on the lavender maid's uniform that Lauren laid out on my mattress that morning while I was cleaning. Satin with white petticoats with a matching lavender and white lace choker, I wore my it with my usual sheer, seamed black stockings and 3 inch heels.
Amanda was correct that Lauren quite fancied the look of a choker around my neck; she purchased me several in different styles and colors to go with my various uniforms (some with little ribbons tied into bows on the front). I think Lauren and Amanda both liked the fact that a choker resembles a collar, so denotes yet another level of ownership and submission (as if the uniform itself were not enough). I intensely disliked the confining feeling around my neck and was worried that I would be compelled to wear them during the summer; even without them, I found it oppressively hot last summer in my uniform and stockings, especially when serving outdoors with no air conditioning.
Besides Lauren, Jason, Amanda and Ryan, Easter dinner was to also include Penny and her boyfriend, George. Jason worked closely with Penny at the firm, and both Lauren and Amanda (who was about the same age as Penny) took a liking to her. I had to wonder if their bonding might also have something to do with Penny's undisguised enthusiasm for witnessing, and participating in, my humiliation. When the doorbell rang, I hurried to answer it.
While Penny had always managed to dress fairly stylishly on her paralegal budget, there was a distinct change in the quality of her apparel since George had entered her life. Today, she was wearing an unmistakably expensive floral print dress with stockings and high heels. George, who wore nerdy, black glasses, was dressed effeminately in a white V-neck sweater with a pink bow tie and tight white pants. Penny handed me a bottle of Dom Perignon to chill in the refrigerator.
"Good afternoon, Miss Penny, sir." After escorting them to the sitting room, where Jason, Lauren, Amanda, and Ryan were already enjoying a cocktail, I said, "Please make yourself comfortable. May I get you both a drink? We have some champagne already open, if that is acceptable."
"Get me a glass of white wine," ordered Penny.
I curtsied and said, "Right away, Miss Penny. Sir, what is your pleasure?"
I don't think George knew what to make of me, or the entire situation for that matter. He said, shyly, "Oh, I guess I'll have a glass of white wine too, please."
"George, there's no need to say please to the help," said Penny with an annoyed expression.
"I'm sorry," George replied, looking ashamed.
When I served him his drink, curtsying, he said, "Thank you."
Penny snapped at him, "What did I just tell you about how to address the help? You don't say please or thank you. This is Jenkins`s job. He is the maid. Don't embarrass me."
George repeated, "I'm sorry," looking down.
Sensing the tension, Lauren interjected, "Penny's quite right, dear. Pleasantries are completely unnecessary when interacting with the help. I love those shoes, Penny! Are they Jimmy Choos?"
"They are!", beamed Penny. "George bought them for me yesterday at Saks as an Easter gift along with this dress."
"Gorgeous. The dress looks great on you," said Amanda.
Penny replied, "Thanks. I love the shoes but I'm still trying to break them in and my feet hurt a little bit. George, would you mind giving me a little massage?" Penny threw her feet up onto George's lap. He removed her shoes and began massaging her stocking-clad right foot.
After a moment, Penny said, "Most of the pain is in my heel. You really can't get good pressure on the heel unless I elevate my feet. It might be better for you to massage them from the floor, George."
George looked around uncertainly, making momentary eye contact with me, as he said, "Of course, honey." He then got down on his knees and continued the massage. Penny smiled contentedly and I saw her wink at Amanda.
Observing this, I began to wonder if Rebecca was the only one with whom I would be sharing the submissive spotlight over the coming months.
Indeed, the next time I saw Penny and George was at a Memorial Day weekend party that Lauren and Jason hosted at the mansion. It was a hot day and the pool had recently been uncovered to start the summer season. It was a relatively small gathering that included Forrest and Jane, Samantha from my old firm and, of course, my daughter and Ryan. I was dressed in a formal serving uniform (classic black and white, fortunately, but with the matching choker) serving cocktails to the guests seated around the pool when Amanda escorted Penny and George into the backyard. Accompanying them, however, was a muscular ("jacked," I believe, is the term of art) young man, already shirtless in a bathing suit and flip-flops. Penny was wearing a bikini under her robe. I did a double take when I looked at George: he was wearing tight, yellow shorts and a T-shirt with the word "CUCK" printed on it in large pink letters. He still had on his nerdy black glasses, but around his neck was a studded pink collar, and he was blushing brightly.
Having just gotten everyone fresh drinks, I was able to catch much of the conversation that ensued after Penny introduced the other young man to Lauren, Jason, Amanda and Ryan.
"Please meet my new boyfriend, Kyle, everyone," said Penny. "Georgie, go to the pool house and change into your swimsuit."
"Yes, goddess", said George as he scurried off to the pool house.
It was quite an interesting story that Penny had to tell.
Apparently, Penny met Kyle at a nightclub in Central Islip. He is a 20-year-old construction worker training to be a professional wrestler -- yes, the kind you see on TV. They dated a few times, and slept together twice, before Penny told Kyle about George. Kyle's first reaction was anger and jealousy, but Penny assured him that there was simply no contest between the two of them. Although it took a little while, she was also able to convince Kyle that George, who spent a great deal of money on her, might play a useful role in their lives.
"I told Kyle about you guys and what you did you with Jenkins. I explained to him that there is a whole world out there of unusual relationships that work for people. It's funny. Before that day when I watched Jason put Jenkins through his exercises, whipping him in his tights, and forcing him to lick his boots, I was really pretty vanilla.
I mean, I let a guy spank me once or twice or played around with handcuffs a couple of times, but that was the extent of it. But seeing that, it stirred something in me. Samantha said I had what she called an epiphany. I wasn't able to get it out of my mind. That's why I'm always asking if I can come over to watch Jason and Forrest discipline Jenkins. I find it incredibly hot watching a superior man dominate a weaker one. I decided I had to have something like that in my own life. Well, now I do," Penny smiled.
When Penny told George about Kyle, he was incredibly distraught and begged her not to break up with him. Penny showed George a picture of Kyle and made it unambiguously clear that he had zero chance.
"I told Georgie that he's a good little beta boy, and that I appreciated all the nice things he bought me and all the nice dinners, but that he just doesn't do it for me sexually, that he's too small and too passive to ever satisfy me in bed. Or anywhere else. I told him that Kyle was a real man. Georgie actually started crying, if you can believe it. He was SO pathetic. I told him that there might be a way for him to stay in my life, but that he probably wouldn't like it. He actually got down on his knees and said he would do ANYTHING to stay in my life. Well, now we're putting that to the test. I think he believes that someday I'll get tired of Kyle and he can win me back. Fat chance, " she laughed. "Here he comes."
George emerged tentatively from the pool house and walked back over to the table where everyone was sitting. He was still wearing his shirt and collar, but now had on a bright yellow speedo. Beneath the nylon fabric, a chastity cage was clearly visible.
"Cuck, get me a beer and get your goddess a glass of wine, double quick." Kyle ordered George. "I'm going to check how long it takes you on this pretty Rolex watch you bought me."
Lauren said, "That's not necessary, Kyle dear. That's what Gregory is here for."
Penny said, "Oh, please let Georgie do it, Lauren. Our relationship is still new and he needs to get used to submitting to Kyle's authority in public."
Lauren replied, "Well, of course, dear. Whatever you like. Gregory, at least show George where we keep the beer and wine. And freshen up our drinks, while you're at it."
"Yes, mistress, of course." I curtsied. "Please come with me, sir," I said to George.
After we returned with the drinks, Kyle looked at George, snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground at his feet. After handing Kyle his beer and Penny her glass of wine, George got on his hands and knees, and Kyle put his feet on his back, using it as a footstool.
Penny giggled, "You see? Isn't it wonderful! And I owe it all to you guys. You have been such an inspiration to me."
Jason said, "Let's toast to Penny, Kyle and Georgie." They all clinked their glasses and drank, laughing.
Amanda asked Kyle, "So, you're really training to be a wrestler?"
Kyle replied, "Yes, ma'am. I should be making my debut on Monday Night RAW this fall. Meanwhile, I'll be going on tour this summer."
Penny said, "You see, Kyle is training to be a heel. There are the alphas, or heels as they're called, and there are the betas, or jobbers. They're the ones that usually wear the pink tights or pink trunks as they get tossed around the ring by the heels."
Kyle explained, "Some of the guys start off as jobbers, and then later become heels. I got no interest in that. I'm training hard, but I'm gonna be a heel from day one, until I retire."
Penny added, "It's so fun! We play this game where Kyle and Georgie wrestle and the winner gets to have sex with me while the loser has to do the winner's laundry and clean his house. Like there's any real contest. Ha ha. Sometimes they wrestle naked, but usually Kyle wears his camouflage trunks and Georgie has to wear pink jobber tights. I then get to watch Kyle completely manhandle him. He throws him around like a ragdoll. The match ends when Kyle puts Georgie in some really humiliating submission hold. He usually squeezes his balls until Georgie begs for mercy. Then Kyle makes him lick his sweaty feet. Just like Jason with Jenkins! After that, Kyle usually spanks Georgie before taking me to bed. But Georgie gets to watch sometimes, don't you Georgie?"
"Yes, goddess," said George from his position beneath Kyle's feet.
"Sex with Kyle is always great, but after watching him smack Georgie around, it's mind blowing." Penny covered her mouth and said, "I'm sorry, I guess I'm sharing way too much."
Lauren said, "Not at all dear. We are very happy for you. And I can relate."
Amanda said, "You go, girl!"
I selfishly wondered what implications there might be for me (besides sharing that spotlight of shame) with George and Kyle coming onto the scene. It was going to be a fascinating summer.
The first few weeks of June were consumed with preparations for Lauren's and Jason`s wedding at the end of the month, as well as Amanda's and Ryan's two weeks later. Both ceremonies and receptions were to take place at the mansion, which had ample room to seat people both inside and outside.
In case you were wondering, no, I was not going to serve as a bridesmaid at either ceremony. I was simply the former husband/maid and father/maid. Lauren and Amanda hired a dressmaker to design and produce custom uniforms for me to wear at their respective weddings. While my typical uniform came down to mid thigh to an inch or two above the knee, Lauren wanted me in a longer uniform for her ceremony: black and white, the skirt extending to the middle of my shins, with a matching black and white lace choker that covered virtually my entire neck. I was to change into a shorter uniform (fortunately with a much thinner choker) to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres at the reception. Amanda, who planned on wearing a long white gown for her wedding, commissioned a white satin uniform of typical length, with black lace petticoats, apron and collar, and a black satin cap with white lace trim. Accompanied by seamed, sheer black stockings and 3 inch heels, of course, in all cases.
[IMAGE]
There was extensive discussion about what role I could play in Amanda`s ceremony that would showcase my dual status of father of the bride and the family maid (probably not an issue encountered by too many wedding planners). It was finally agreed upon that, while Jason was to give her away, I was to hold the train of Amanda's long wedding dress as she walked down the aisle with him. Although this task usually falls to the bride's maid of honor, it was decided that for me to do it would allow me to take part in the ceremony, but in a way that would accentuate my role as servant. After Amanda stepped onto the altar, I was to curtsy deeply to her and Ryan, then pivot and deep curtsy to Lauren and Jason, then to Ryan's parents and finally to all of the assembled guests, before taking my seat in the back row.
Lauren wanted things to be picture perfect, so in the days leading up to her and Jason's ceremony, I was kept exceedingly busy cleaning every inch of the mansion;. mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, weeding the garden; washing and detailing Jasons and Amandas Porsches, Lauren's Mercedes and Ryan's Land Rover
(my eyesore Subaru safely hidden in the garage).
It would be impossible to chronicle all of the myriad humiliations I suffered before, during and after these two momentous occasions. Therefore, I will simply highlight the ineffable few that stood out and stayed with me for years to come:
- Greeting Lauren`s mother, Helen, at the door when she arrived from
the airport. At 63, she was only a couple years older than I was. She
had always disapproved of our marriage, believing that I robbed the
cradle. A proud feminist, she was deeply disappointed that her
daughter would marry someone as domineering and chauvinistic as I.
When I curtsied to her in my working maid's uniform, she said,
"Well, Gregory, Lauren and Nicole both told me about your
transformation, of course, but I had to see it to believe it. I'm
still not sure I believe it. Curtsy for me again."
- Receiving five strokes of the cane each from Jason and Ryan for
smudges found on the sterling silverware I had inadequately polished,
while their fiancés and Helen looked on approvingly.
- Giving pedicures to the three generations of Helen, Lauren and Amanda
as they watched Barbie in the home theater.
- Serving as caddy in my school boy uniform to Jason's father ("Well,
son, when you told me about all the abuse you suffered from that
asshole you worked for, I told you to cut your losses and quit.
Hanging in there paid off pretty handsomely, I guess.") in a
foursome that also included Jason, his 24-year-old younger brother
and Paulo.
- Being bent over the kitchen counter, and given six smacks with a
wooden spoon across my bottom of by my niece, Olivia, for having
placed the braised short ribs on the wrong end of the buffet table at
Lauren's and Jason's reception--with two young women on her catering
staff looking on, snickering.
- Giving pedicures, with extended foot massages, to Amanda and all
eight of her bridesmaids ("This is really your dad, Amanda?! How
wild!"), followed by shining the shoes of Ryan and all eight of his
groomsmen (as they were being worn, an hour before the ceremony).
Besides Olivia, Mia, Isabella, Jason's brother and Paolo, the
wedding party members consisted mainly of Amanda's and Ryan's
respective sorority sisters and fraternity brothers from Dartmouth,
all of whom seemed genuinely excited to be part of such an
unconventional event.
- Being photographed in front of all the guests at both weddings. Both
couples used the same wedding photographer. I was included in only
three pictures (the exact same for both couples): one with me facing
the bride and groom in the position of a deep curtsy; another with me
standing at attention off to the side of and slightly behind the
bride and groom, holding a tray with two glasses of champagne; and
the third with me kneeling next to the smiling newlyweds, the
bride's hand resting in a proprietary manner upon my head.
- Holding the train of Amanda's gown as she danced with Jason during
the father/daughter dance (at one point during the dance, I stumbled
in my heels and fell to the floor briefly, creating a moment of
levity).
- Receiving "six of the best" in my punishment tights from Ryan in
front of all of the inebriated members of the wedding party (except
for young Isabella and Olivia), after I spilled onion dip on Mia at
the after-party held at a beach house that Amanda and Ryan had rented
nearby--followed by 45 minutes in my penance position facing the
drunk, laughing college students, my erect cock saluting them through
my tights (in spite of my heroic efforts at concentration, willing it
to subside).
I have used the adjective "surreal" several times to describe my predicament, but things were never more surreal than during this three-week period, especially on the two big days themselves. Memorable to say the least.
The day after their wedding, Amanda and Ryan departed for a 10-day honeymoon to the Greek islands. Lauren and Jason, due to Jason's work commitments, were planning on delaying their honeymoon until the second of August when they were embarking on a two-week trip to the Amalfi coast.
While I have obviously focused on holidays and big events over the last several months, my normal routine of drudgery continued throughout this period. This included the biweekly cleanings of my old law firm offices; the regular proofreading work; the semi regular cleanings of Forrest's and Jane's house; and, of course, all of my daily duties around the mansion. Just as my cooking skills had improved, I fortunately had learned to make fewer mistakes in proofreading, and had learned what was necessary to satisfy Jane's high expectations of cleanliness, resulting in less frequent punishments. Don't get me wrong, my punishments were fewer than they had been in the past, but were by no means nonexistent.
Most of the big parties of the summer, jointly planned between my daughter and son-in-law (it would take some time for me to get use to that designation) with Paulo and Shyla, were to take place throughout the month of August. Indeed, it almost sounded as if August was going to be one long party. Because of their wedding and honeymoon--as well as their ambitious party plans for August, I suspect--the new college graduates decided to delay their active searches for employment until the fall.
The Friday after Amanda's and Ryan's wedding I was shipped off to Virginia for my week of indentured servitude to Ethan, the final portion of my delayed, multipart punishment for my transgression on Thanksgiving day. Because the Subaru was in dubious condition to safely make such a long trip, I instead boarded a Greyhound bus at the Port Authority Bus Terminal on Friday morning. Lauren carefully packed my carry-on bag (light pink--one used by Amanda as a teenager, since gathering dust in the basement): one of my working maid uniforms; a pair of flats; a tight pair of cut off jeans (coming down to my mid thigh); a pink speedo (my required swimwear for the pool at the mansion); two new custom-made T-shirts ("At your service" and, simply, "Servant"); a pair of spandex yoga pants; flip-flops; a 3-pack of mesh panties (black, red and white); three pairs of white knee socks; a water bottle; sun screen; and my toiletries bag. Also included, to be presented to Nicole and Bill upon my arrival, was a leather tawse and a sealed envelope containing the key to my chastity cage. Bill and Nicole insisted I be caged but Bill could remove it for hygienic (I hoped no other) purposes. For my trip, I was dressed in a second pair of cut offs, another new T-shirt ("How may I serve you?") and an old pair of sneakers. To read on the trip, I brought with me the novel Hangover Square by Patrick Hamilton. Jason approved this tale of an alcoholic, masochistic man who becomes hopelessly infatuated with a pretty, shallow, young actress who sexually teases and manipulates him, abuses him and treats him as her simp as she flirts with and pursues other men right in his face. The setting was pre-World War II London, fascism ascendant -- some might even say a novel for our present times.
I got some real stares on the bus, as you can imagine.
At a rest stop in southern New Jersey, a bearded guy in his fifties coming out of bathroom stall stared and my shirt and grinned maliciously, saying, "I bet I could think of something, princess."
Lauren gave me cab money to get from the bus station in downtown Richmond to Bill's and Nicole`s house in a rural suburb about 20 miles away. Nicole answered the door when I knocked.
"Hello Gregory. Welcome to our home. I realize it's not as big and fancy as you're used to. Let me show you where you'll be sleeping."
She took me down to the basement where they had set up a cot next to a small, rundown half bathroom.
After I handed her the tawse and the envelope, she said, "Good. Lauren told me about this. You must be tired after your long trip. Why don't you rest for half an hour. Then change into your uniform and give the house a good cleaning. It sure needs it."
Nicole was not exaggerating; the place was a pigsty. I was mopping the kitchen floor when Isabella got home. She was accompanied by her friend, a pretty, if slightly heavy set, girl named Luanne. They both cracked up when they saw me.
Isabella said, "Hi, uncle Greg. I mean, uncle maid."
I curtsied. "Hello, Miss Isabella. It's very nice to meet you, Miss Luanne."
"Since I knew you were coming, I haven't cleaned my room in weeks. You better do a good job. But don't let me catch you touching any of my unmentionables." The two girls erupted and laughter again.
A few minutes later, I heard the boisterous voice of Ethan in the hallway. "I'm home! Has my new employee arrived yet?" I gulped.
After cleaning for three hours, I took a break to prepare dinner (as Lauren was fond of saying, a maid's work is never done). Consulting one of Nicole's cookbooks, I made what I believed to be a serviceable meatloaf. Bill had come home from work by this time, and Luanne was spending the night. As everyone ate, I stood at attention next to the table in my working maid uniform, ready to refresh drinks and serve second helpings.
Isabella asked, "Why isn't the maid wearing heels? And what's with those frumpy looking nude stockings? Doesn't Aunt Lauren think we're good enough for a proper looking maid?"
Nicole replied, "Your uncle -- I should say, former uncle -- was sent here to work, honey. That's his cleaning uniform. Although, I do agree with you that Lauren should've packed heels at least. I'll tell you what, I'll get his size from Lauren and go buy some heels and black stockings at the Walmart tomorrow."
"Good idea, Mom. Get me another Coke, maid," ordered Isabella.
"Right away, Miss Isabella," I curtsied, eliciting snickers from Isabella and Luanne, and a sneer from Ethan.
I spent another three hours cleaning the house after dinner, before Ethan came up to me and said, "You might want to think about finishing your cleaning some other time, because your new job starts tomorrow morning at 6 AM sharp. And you better rest up, because you're gonna work your ass off." Smirking, he added, "The insufferable brat is the one calling the shots now, I guess."
"Yes, sir, Master Ethan," I replied, with a deep curtsy. Like Ryan, Ethan could truly hold a grudge, but if 22-year-old Ryan had a chip on his shoulder, this aggrieved teenager had on his a cord of wood. I was hoping that by being extra obsequious, I might induce him to show me a modicum of leniency in the week ahead.
I slept in my yoga pants and a T-shirt. The basement didn't have air-conditioning, so it was quite sticky and uncomfortable, making it challenging to fall (and stay) asleep. I thought about sleeping only in my panties to cool down, but I was afraid that I might be seen by Ethan or Isabella if they came down into the basement--which certainly would've resulted in me getting into serious trouble with their parents (I was hoping against hope that the tawse would go unused during my visit). I tried to read a couple chapters of my novel to help me fall asleep, but the lighting was poor. Even with my new, higher strength reading glasses, I struggled to see the print. Nicole had given me a small bedside alarm that I set for 5 AM.
The next morning, far from well rested, I dressed in a pair of cut offs, my "Servant" T-shirt and my sneakers. The bulk of my chastity cage was visible beneath my tight shorts to anyone paying attention. I slathered sunscreen over myself, filled up my water bottle, and, as instructed, grabbed a banana and apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter and met Ethan by his pickup truck. He had inherited Bill's old Ford truck after tuning 16 in January. The prior summer, the enterprising teen had started a lawn care business, which had grown to be quite successful this summer. He had two other boys from his high school working for him and now, of course, me as well. Ethan directed me to get the push lawnmower and hedge trimmers from the garage and load them into the truck. While he drove, I rode in the back of the truck with the equipment.
Ethan pulled into the driveway of a ranch house on a huge plot of land, a field with a couple of cows grazing in it behind the enormous backyard. Because we were in a rural area, there were no issues mowing the grass early in the morning.
Ethan directed me to begin mowing the vast lawn as he trimmed around the edges with a weed whacker. Around 7 AM, a car pulled up and two boys around Ethan's age got out. These were his two employees, Tommy and Reece. Both were fellow members of Ethan`s football team. Tommy was bigger than Ethan, a defensive lineman, and had sort of brutish, oafish appearance. Reece was the smallest of the three (even so, roughly my height); he played cornerback, and you could see his sinewy muscles beneath his T-shirt. It quickly became apparent that there was a clear hierarchy among the three boys, with Ethan at the top and Tommy at the bottom. However, Ethan made it crystal clear in our introductions that I was to obey the orders of both boys and address both as "sir."
Around 10 AM, a woman emerged from the house with a pitcher of lemonade. She was about 45 years old and had a somewhat weatherbeaten, but still still attractive face, and a good figure. She was dressed in short cut offs and a bikini top. Drenched in sweat and incredibly thirsty, I did not hesitate to walk up to her to get a cup of lemonade.
Speaking in a somewhat raspy voice, she asked, "Who's your new worker, Ethan?"
Ethan replied, "Hi, Mrs. Rice. Thanks for the lemonade. This is my uncle Greg."
Mrs. Rice looked me up and down, scrutinizing my shirt and my cut offs, and said, grinning, "Your uncle, huh? He looks more like your lackey to me."
"Well, technically, he's not my uncle anymore. Let's just say he did something he wasn't supposed to do, and my aunt sent him down here from New York to work for me as his punishment."
"Well, that's certainly intriguing."
By then, I had emptied my cup, and Ethan said to me, simply, "Get back to work, boy." Mrs. Rice sniggered.
I replied, "Yes, sir. Thank you, ma'am, for the lemonade." I then returned to mowing the lawn. Ethan asked Reece to trim the hedges and instructed Tommy to weed the vegetable garden. He spent the next 30 minutes or so finishing the pitcher of lemonade and talking with Mrs. Rice (about what, I didn't wish to speculate), as his three employees toiled away in the hot Virginia sun. I saw her laughing as they looked in my direction.
Around noon, we drove to Chick-fil-A for lunch. I had heard of this place, but had never been there before (frankly, had found even the thought of dining there unthinkable in my prior life). The boys ate chicken sandwiches and french fries, while I ate the grilled chicken nuggets and fruit cup Ethan ordered for me.
After lunch, we moved on to our second customer.
The lawn of the next property, while still huge, was not as massive as the first, thankfully. While Ethan and Reece were responsible for mowing and trimming the front yard, I was put under the authority of Tommy in cleaning up the backyard. Tommy worked with the weed whacker and directed me to pick up dog poop, which turned out to be a quasi Herculean task in this particular yard. The family that owned the house had three large dogs that they allowed to defecate freely in the large yard. They obviously never walked the dogs, so there were countless mounds of poop of varying sizes and consistencies strewn throughout the area, flies buzzing around everywhere. To add insult to injury, one of the dogs (I believe it had some pitbull in it) growled at me before a woman called it inside the house.
From watching the interactions of the three boys this morning, it was clear to me that Tommy was on the receiving end of a lot of teasing and general abuse from the other two. He clearly also got the short end of the stick when it came to the more unpleasant tasks in cleaning up the customers' yards. Therefore, I'm sure that he greatly enjoyed having someone to lord it over for a change. He mimicked Ethan in addressing me.
"Boy, after you pick up all that dog shit, you gotta weed that vegetable garden. There's some gloves in the back of Ethan's pickup." The irony of referring to me (who would be turning 62 in less than two weeks) as "boy" seemed to be an endless source of amusement for the three 16-year-olds.
"Yes, sir," I replied.
Two blond haired twin girls, both about 12 years old, were playing on the patio and looked on with interest at the spectacle a 16-year-old kid ordering around a man old enough to be his grandfather.
At one point, one of the girls approached me and asked, "Are you his servant, mister? That's what your shirt says."
Tommy answered for me, "I'm his boss and he better do what he's told. Otherwise, he's gonna get punished."
Looking down at the ground, I echoed, "That is true, miss. I better get back to work."
The girl's sister asked Tommy, "How do y"all punish him?"
"My buddy, Ethan, has a switch and whips him on his behind. I do too sometimes," he lied, taking obvious pleasure in showing off in front of the two girls. Ethan had obviously told Tommy and Reece about the switch he beat me with while I was washing his father's truck the day after Thanksgiving.
"Can we watch?", one of the girls asked.
Just then, Ethan walked into the backyard. It was about 2 o'clock in the afternoon and he heat was sweltering. Ethan had put on a pair mirrored-lens sunglasses that made him resemble a state trooper.
He said, "What the hell is going on here? Why are you both talking when you should be working?"
Tommy went back to trimming with the weed whacker while I quickly knelt down into the dirt to begin pulling up prickly weeds from the garden.
Winking at the girls, Ethan said, "I better supervise my employees for a while. You can't take your eyes off them for a minute." He picked up a long branch from the ground, sat down in a patio chair and then pulled his pocket knife out and began wheedling down the branch.
One of the sisters asked, "How come you get to be his boss, when he's so much older than you?"
Ethan replied, "Age ain't got nothing to do with it. Some men are born leaders and are meant to be in charge. I may only be 16, but I'm a born leader. Other men, like him, are natural followers, and are meant to serve the leaders. It's almost like guys like him ain't real men, they're more like women."
"A'int that kind of sexist?, she objected.
"No, not at all," Ethan replied. "Losers like him are supposed to serve women too."
After another twenty minutes or so of wheedling, Ethan walked over to where I was working. He stood right above where I was kneeling in the dirt, and began pointing with his newly made switch at various weeds. "You missed this one, boy. Pull it up, now."
Looking up at his sunglass covered face, I sort of felt like I was working on a chain gang, only without the chains, and Ethan was my prison guard taskmaster.
He tapped the switch on his sneaker and said, "Wait. Pull out your handkerchief and wipe the grass off my sneakers." I saw him wink again at the two girls.
"Yes, sir," I said, following his command. The girls looked on, fascinated, exchanging glances at one another. I thought to myself, here undoubtedly were a couple of future cuckoldresses, getting primed by an early lesson in the laws of the jungle, seeing the dominant male demonstrate mastery over the weaker one. While I'm sure these two girls had no idea why, there is no question that they were captivated by what they were witnessing. When Ethan brought his switch down on my upper thigh (for no particular reason, other than to impress the girls, and because he could), I was ashamed that my reaction was not any attempt at self-defense, but rather the feeling of my cock throb within its cage.
After we were finished, the mother of the two girls gave Ethan $100. He handed $25 each to Tommy and Reece and put the rest in his pocket, before ordering me into the back of the truck and driving home.
When we got home, I was permitted to use the first floor bathroom to shower, and then to lie down on my cot for an hour's rest. It was a good thing that I had set my alarm, because I was in a deep sleep when it rang an hour later. Still in a daze, I put on my uniform and resumed cleaning the house. I still had to do Ethan's and Isabella's rooms, and Nicole instructed me to tidy up every room I had cleaned yesterday. It was incredible how much of a mess this family could create in a 24-hour period.
After two hours of cleaning, it was time for me to freshen myself up a bit before preparing dinner (fried chicken and biscuits, two dishes I had never prepared before). When I went down to the basement to wash up in the half bathroom, I noticed that someone had obviously gone through the contents of my luggage, as everything was disheveled. Also, Nicole had placed upon my cot a Walmart shopping bag containing a cheap pair of heels and a package of Hanes plus size, sheer-to-waist, black pantyhose. I changed into my new purchases before going upstairs to begin dinner.
Tonight's dinner was not nearly as successful as yesterday's meatloaf. I stood at attention tableside, looking at the four disappointed faces (fortunately, Luanne had gone home earlier in the day) as they started eating the meal I had served.
Bill said, "The batter keeps falling off the chicken. We'd have been better off with KFC."
Ethan added, "The biscuits are dry and keep crumbling apart,"
Isabella, coming to my rescue perhaps, said, "At least, the maid looks better in the heels and the new stockings mom bought."
In truth, the heels were of very poor quality, and were digging into the side of my feet, causing more than a little discomfort.
"How did your new employee perform today, son?", asked Bill.
"He did okay this morning, but Tommy said he slacked off this afternoon while weeding the Henderson's vegetable garden."
This was distressing to hear, if not surprising, as I was quite confident that I had worked at least twice as hard as Tommy, and probably three times harder than Ethan in his role as overseer. However, as was often the case for me during the last year, I faced the dilemma about whether to argue my case, realizing it would probably be futile (and quite possibly even counterproductive), or to simply let it go and take my medicine. I usually chose the latter option, and did so again this time.
After taking another bite of chicken, Ethan threw his drumstick down and said, "I can't eat this crap. I'm going to KFC. What do y'all want?"
Visibly annoyed, Bill said, "All this chicken wasted, and now we have to go buy dinner. I'd suggest taking it out of his paycheck, Ethan, if you were paying him anything." Bill chuckled at his own joke. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Bill asked, staring directly at me.
I curtsied deeply, and said, "My sincere apologies, sir. Mistress Lauren and Master Jason are not fond of fried food, so this was my first time making these dishes. I tried to follow the recipes as closely as I could. I didn't sleep well last night, so perhaps I missed something?"
Bill replied, "I don't want to hear your sorry excuses. You were always a food snob. I recall that you made a couple of snarky remarks in the past about how much fried food we eat down south. You probably think it's beneath you. Well, you'll be cooking for us five more nights. We're going to have fried chicken again the day after tomorrow, and I'm going to give you some motivation later tonight in the family room to do a better job next time," said Bill.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Ethan asked, "Can I give him some motivation too, to not to slack off when he's working for me?"
"That would seem to make sense," said Bill. "We'll all meet in the family room at 8 PM."
After Ethan returned with the KFC bucket of chicken, I served it to the four of them on clean plates.
As they were eating, Ethan said, "I had an idea today for diversifying my business. While Tommy, Reece and I clean up the yards, the maid could clean the inside of our customers' homes. I don't think any of my competitors offer maid services."
Bill said, "That's not a bad idea son. I'll tell you, honey," he said to Nicole, "this kid has a good head for business."
"I'm not so sure about that," Nicole replied. "Ethan, this is not the Hamptons. There's a lot of God-fearing people down here who are not going to approve of a man dressed as a maid."
"Mrs. Rice wouldn't have any problem with it," said Ethan. "In fact, she sort of helped me come up with the idea. She thought a lot of other people she knows would be just fine with it too."
Nicole said, "Well, I guess you would just need to make sure you have a good screening process. But it could work, I guess. I'll talk to Aunt Lauren about sending him down for two weeks next summer. Your business should be even bigger by then."
Ethan looked over at me with a gloating expression on his face.
Isabella said, "It's not fair. Ethan gets to monopolize the maid. What about me?"
Nicole responded, "What did you have in mind, sweetheart?"
"I would like to invite Luanne and Cindy over on Thursday. The maid could serve us lunch and then give us a pedicure. Amanda told me her father`s gotten pretty good at them."
"That's fine, sweetheart. I know Luanne`s parents are OK with it, but just make sure Cindy's parents don't have a problem with it. If you need me to talk to Cindy's mom to explain the situation, I will."
"I'll make sure she gets her mom's approval, I promise. Cindy says her parents are pretty open-minded, so I don't think it will be a problem. Thanks."
After washing the dishes, I resumed cleaning Isabella`s room. At 8 PM, Bill called me into the family room, where the others were already sitting, and directed me to bend over the coffee table. After lifting up my dress, he rubbed the tawse up against my panty-covered bottom before delivering five sharp strokes.
"I suggest your bedtime reading tonight be the cookbook. Ethan, it's your turn."
Taking the tawse from his father, Ethan placed it against my bottom. I braced myself for the first strike, but he cruelly made me wait for about 45 seconds before striking me suddenly and viciously. When he was finished, he said, "No slacking off tomorrow, or there is more where these came from. Do I make myself clear."
"Yes, sir. Completely clear," I answered, curtsying deeply and using my forearm to wipe away the tears from my eyes.
Bill then directed me to stand in the corner for 45 minutes with my hands clasped behind my head while the family watched TV. As I stood there, I heard occasional giggles from Isabella and Ethan. After a while my cock began throbbing uncomfortably in its cage. Before bed, I sheepishly asked Bill to unlock me so I could clean myself. I felt profound shame as my former brother-in-law unsealed the envelope, removed the key and pulled down my panties to unlock me. Almost as soon as he did, I felt my cock begin to harden, mortifying me still further. After cleaning myself in the bathroom, I had to place a cold washcloth against my cock for a few minutes to get it to soften before Bill could lock me back up. I could not meet his eye.
I then asked for a flashlight, which I used to read the cookbook until I dozed off to sleep.
When I met Ethan at his pickup at 6 AM the following morning, he looked at me and said, "Go back and put on your socks. Wear them from now on when you work. Hurry up."
This solved the mystery of who had rooted through my luggage (not that I had much doubt). When I returned, he said, "Pull them all the way up to your knees, and keep them up."
At first I thought maybe we were going to be walking around in poison ivy or something like that and he wanted me to protect myself. But when I saw that he, Tommy and Reece were wearing the same same ankle socks as they had yesterday, I concluded than Ethan's true motivation was simply to further humiliate me: the juvenile look of the white knee socks on my 61-year-old, hairless legs, especially with the cut offs that came down to my mid thigh, was quite absurd (a fact confirmed by the many amused and/or contemptuous stares I received the balance of the week). In the intense heat, the socks were also uncomfortable.
I spent that morning under Reece's command. We were cleaning up the property of a clearly more affluent family than yesterday's patrons. Reece and I were responsible for cleaning the three-stall horse stable while Ethan and Tommy mowed the huge lawn. To be more precise, Tommy mowed in the baking sun while Ethan pruned trees, partially in the shade. Reece swept the stable interior while ordering me to shovel up and dispose of the waste from the horses' stalls-- not what I had envisioned doing in my sixties when I was editor of the Harvard Law Review back in my early twenties. When the family's raven haired daughter, probably about 16, came into the stable in her equestrian attire to inspect our work and take her horse out for a ride, Reece stopped sweeping and shifted effortlessly into martinet mode, calling me boy and ostentatiously telling me what to do and how to do it as the comely girl looked on with an amused expression.
As she was riding out of the stable, she stopped next to where I was shoveling manure and addressed Reece, "Does your boy also clean and polish riding boots and clean and oil saddles and bridles?"
"He's a city boy, ma'am. I'm sure he'll clean your boots, but I'll have to show him how to clean your saddle," said Reece.
"I should be back from my ride in about an hour," she said, as she trotted off.
By the time she returned to the stable, Ethan was there as well. Ethan and Reece flirted with the girl as I knelt down in front of a stool upon which she had propped her booted feet while she rested on a bench outside the stable door. I applied shoe polish to a few scuff marks on her boots and buffed vigorously. Meanwhile, Reece rubbed saddle soap into her saddle. Ethan sat next to the girl on the bench, drinking a soda.
The girl, whose name was Melissa, explained to Ethan and Reece that she attended an all-girl, private high school nearby, where she was a member of the equestrian club.
"We lost our stable hand recently. I wonder if we could we could pay you for the services of your stableboy here. I think my girlfriends would get a kick out of having such an old guy work for us."
Ethan replied, "Well, unfortunately, he's got to go back to New York on Friday. But he'll be back next summer. Maybe we can work something out then."
I could almost see the dollar signs appearing in Ethan the entrepreneur's brain. The profit margins are pretty high when your workers are unpaid. It's funny, in my prior life, I never gave two seconds thought to the plight of poor workers; now that I was the one being exploited, I began to think of the world in a different, more empathetic way.
Melissa pointed with the toe of the boot I was not polishing towards my crotch area and asked, "What is that bulky thing under his shorts?"
Ethan laughed, "That's what's called a chastity cage. His thingy has to stay locked up until someone else unlocks it."
Melissa giggled and replied, "Well, that would make him an even more attractive candidate to be our stableboy next summer."
The rest of the week was much of the same, with the exception of Thursday, the day before I returned to New York. Nicole and Bill had to run errands in Richmond that day, so I was to be at the unsupervised mercy of Ethan, Isabella and their friends for most of the day. In the morning, dressed in my uniform, I gave pedicures to Isabella, Luanne and Cindy, who was captain of the cheerleading team at the high school they all attended. She was a pretty, bitchy and entitled blonde, who behaved as if there was nothing remotely out of the ordinary in having a 61-year-old man in a maid's uniform paint her toenails. She casually placed her freshly pedicured right foot on my forehead to examine the quality of my work. All three girls insisted that I blow their nails dry.
Ethan, Reese and Tommy had played a football game that morning. When they arrived at the house, still dressed in their football uniforms and cleats, I had just finished serving lunch to the girls, who were sitting around the above ground pool in the backyard. The three, still sweaty boys sat down next to the girls. I was ordered to serve them sandwiches as well.
Ethan then ordered me to give him a foot massage. He and Cindy were clearly attracted to each other, and she was manifestly entertained when he placed his sweat soaked, nylon socked foot over my face as I worked on his other foot. My cock pressed up painfully against its prison.
After I finished giving massages to Reece and Tommy, Ethan ordered me to change into my pink speedo and wash his pickup truck while the six of them looked on. When I was done, he ordered me to soap myself up with the sponge I had used to wash his truck. He then hosed me down while the other five teens laughed uproariously (taking special aim with the nozzle at the metal underneath my speedos).
That night, fortunately, my second attempt at fried chicken and biscuits passed muster. The following morning, I was more grateful than I would've thought possible to board a crowded passenger bus.
Amanda and Ryan returned from their honeymoon a few days before I got back from Virginia. After I served the two newlywed couples dinner the evening I returned, Amanda insisted I model the evil eye fashion tights she bought me in Mykonos as an early birthday present (worn with my "Amanda's Puppet" T-Shirt) as they enjoyed after-dinner drinks.
Lauren said to Amanda, "Well, it sounds as if you two had a fabulous time! I understand from Nicole that your father had a very pleasant trip to Virginia as well. Gregory, I think it's lovely that your relationship with Ethan and Isabella is continuing to evolve even though you are no longer their uncle, technically speaking. In fact, they enjoyed having you so much that Nicole and I have planned for you to visit for two full weeks next summer. Isn't that wonderful news?"
"Yes, mistress," I answered with a curtsy, although I could think of different adjectives.
"Gregory, I've been thinking. Mistress' sounds as if I was your paramour, which I am decidedly not. Especially now that we are no longer married, I believe it is more appropriate that you address me as My lady' from now on. Do you understand?"
Curtsying, I replied, "Yes, My lady, as you wish. Master Jason, do you wish that I now address you as `My lord'?"
"No, Jenkins, since I am your master, continue to address me as 'master' or sir'? Just remember that you have two masters now," he said, nodding towards Ryan.
"Yes, sir." I curtsied to both.
Amanda asked, "Now that I'm no longer single, I wonder, is it appropriate that father still addresses me as `Miss Amanda'?"
Ryan answered, "Miss' is also short for mistress.'"
"In that case, I guess it's fine for now that you continue to address me as you have, father."
"Yes, Miss Amanda," I curtsied.
Ryan said, "I, however, now expect you to address me as either my lord' or your grace,' maid."
"Yes, your grace," I replied with a curtsy.
All of this formalized humiliation notwithstanding, I was still very relieved to be back home. I was even happy to be back in my high quality heels and stockings (such is what I have been reduced to).
Later that week, the five of us celebrated my birthday. Lauren and Amanda even baked me a cake (I was given a generous slice). More importantly, for the first time since beginning my new life of service and humility, I was permitted to have a glass of wine; it may have been cheap red table wine, but after over a year of complete, forced abstention, it tasted to me like a glass of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild. Of course, after opening my gifts (a lockable corset from Lauren, the Japanese film Moonlight Whispers from Jason and a leather, o-ring posture collar from Amanda and Ryan), I received 62 spanks (31 each from my two masters) on my evil eye tights-clad bottom. While not as hard as a punishment spanking, the birthday spanking was still far from a walk in the park.
Afterwards, my bottom still smarting, we watched Moonlight Whispers, me lying at the feet of my four owners. At once disturbing and romantic, the film is about two 17-year olds who fall in love. The girl uses the boy's submissive fetishes to subjugate him, including having him listen to her make love to another man and then forcing him to lick the sweat of her lover off her legs.
I was invited into Lauren's and Jason's bedroom for an extended period that night. I was granted release, a birthday present--but whereas, typically, I humped Jason's shoe or boot while worshiping the feet of Lauren, they mixed it up on this occasion. Lauren wore sheer, black, thigh high stockings, black ankle boots, and a black bodice. With Jason's large soles (thankfully, now softer than they used to be, given the regular pedicures I provided) resting on my face, Lauren gave light, little kicks to my cock through my tights, striking a delicate balance between teasing and inflicting pain. Finally, she pressed her boot down firmly on top of my cock, and gave me permission to begin thrusting my pelvis upwards against the bottom of her boot. Throughout this time, I was in a state of deep subspace, and when I finally ejaculated, it was with an intensity not matched since the culmination of the garden party the prior summer. After I licked up the mess I made from her boots and the floor, I was allowed to clean myself up and change into a fresh pair of tights before returning to their room.
Jason then made me fluff him. As he and Lauren made love, I lay under them and licked his balls as he penetrated her. After I cleaned them both with my tongue, Jason then ordered me to kneel before him and suck on his toes.
"Jenkins, it has been well over a year now since I took Lauren from you. You are now a servant in your former house. You've lost your job, your wealth, your power, your, independence, your dignity. Your daughter who once feared you now treats you as her chattel. Suck on my big toe as though your life depended upon it. Who knows, it might," he said, whacking my ass three times sharply with his riding crop. By now, I was hard again (as was he, amazingly).
"Use more saliva. Drink some water if you need to. I want my toes wet. Bob your head up and down as if you were sucking on my cock. I deliberately didn't shower after my run today. Consider it another birthday present. Tell me, Jenkins, if I were to give you a choice of going easier on you or amping up your humiliation in the future, which would you choose? Hypothetically, you understand? You may stop sucking to answer."
Lauren, still in her stockings and boots, looked on, absorbed, rubbing her sex with her two fingers.
I was startled by his question and frightened, to be honest. "Truthfully, sir, I am not sure. May I have some time to think it over?"
Hypothetical or not, it was not as easy a question for me to answer as one might suppose.
"You have two weeks to think it over, while we are away on our honeymoon. Then I expect your answer."
For tomorrow they departed for Italy and I was again to be left to the tender mercies of my daughter and son-in-law.
The Saturday afternoon after Lauren's and Jason's departure for Italy, I found myself in my formal serving uniform standing at attention next to Rebecca, similarly attired, on the expansive patio of the opulent, palatial estate of Shyla's parents (who, if you recall, were spending the entire summer in India). I was grateful for the ocean breeze that slightly lifted my dress and blew against my stockings in the 93 degree heat.
To our right were 20 or so guests in their twenties, either recent college graduates like Amanda, Ryan, Paolo and Shyla, or others still in college (mostly members of the respective sororities or fraternities of the recent graduates). Rebecca was not counted among the new graduates given her abysmal grades during her senior year at Brown. To our left was Shyla's younger sister, Kyla, holding court with 15 or so of her high school friends, affluent, attractive girls and boys in their mid teens. Except for Rebecca and I, pretty much all the of the guests wore swimsuits (all of the young women and girls in bikinis), alternating between the enormous pool and the private beach. Uncaged, I was grateful that my constant erection was hidden by my uniform.
Rebecca was responsible for attending to the teenagers and I to the college aged guests, but it was understood that she or I would jump in to help the other when required. Although my group was larger, Rebecca likely got the short end of the stick. The high school kids, Kyla in particular, ran her ragged. I can only imagine the rush it must have been for those testosterone filled 15 and 16-year-old boys to have this sexy 22-year-old, dressed in a skimpy french maid uniform, at their beck and call. Kyla, meanwhile, was clearly reveling in demonstrating to her friends that she had control over this young woman--her sister's lackey--in ways that went far beyond the control the typical wealthy teenager has over the domestic help. From my vantage point, I was only able to catch only a small amount of what Rebecca had to endure, but it was telling.
Kyla,, a lovely girl who was really a younger version of Shyla (perhaps even more haughty, if that was possible), was wearing a light blue bikini and a tiara. She was sitting on a large, cushioned, elevated deck chair that resembled a throne. Next to her, in a matching chair, was her boyfriend, Alaric, a sandy haired kid with an athletic body.
After directing Rebecca to bring two fresh pitchers of Arnold Palmers to the tables near where she was sitting, Kyla said, "Becky, I don't believe you've met my new boyfriend, Alaric, before. Curtsy to him and serve him an Arnold Palmer."
"Yes, princess." Rebecca did as ordered.
"Do you know what Alaric means, Becky?"
"No, princess."
"It means ruler, genius. That means your ruler. Since I am your princess, you will address Alaric as prince' or Prince Alaric', Becky."
Rebecca could not help herself and answered, "Isn't that kind of redundant, princess?", resulting in titters from a couple of the boys sitting nearby.
Kyla was visibly incensed at Rebecca for showing her up, however fleetingly.
"How dare you, peon? My sister will hear about your insolence."
"I'm very sorry, Princess Kyra and Prince Alaric," said Rebecca, attempting (not altogether successfully) a deep curtsy. "I was just joking. Please don't tell Shyla."
"Peons don't tell jokes. Get on your knees and massage our feet. All of us. Depending upon how good a job you do, I may choose to overlook your disobedience. Start with Prince Alaric , then me, and then move clockwise."
"Yes, princess. Thank you for giving me a second chance, princess."
Rebecca ran over to Alaric, knelt before him, and lifted his right foot, removing his sandal.
"Kiss the foot of your prince first, peon," commanded Kyla..
Rebecca kissed the bottom of the boy's foot, causing several of the teens to snicker. Alaric displayed no sense of humor, simply staring down at Rebecca imperiously as she pressed her fingers into his soles. As Rebecca made her way around to all Kyla's friends (spending about ten minutes on each pair of feet before Kyla ordered her to move on to the next), I assumed responsibility for fetching the teenagers fresh soft drinks and snacks. I got a few long stares and giggles from a couple of them, but what struck me most was that they were by and large completely unfazed--as if sissified older men were waiting on them every day. Perhaps they were. What did I know, after all? If I really had any clue about things, would I find myself in this surreal situation to begin with?
Rebecca and I were on equal footing as servants at Shyla's home, yet I still strategically deferred to her (given the likelihood of future parties at the mansion when I would be junior to her). In the kitchen, as we prepared more snacks, Rebecca said to me, "I think I hate that little cunt Kyla even more than I do Shyla. And can you believe that arrogant little prick, Alaric? I will never forgive Paolo for putting me in this position!"
"Won't you be seeing a lot more of them if you take up Miss Shyla's offer of employment, Miss Rebecca?", I asked.
Rebecca had explained to me that Shyla had offered her $30/hour to be her maid. Not only had Paolo strongly suggested that she needed to accept this offer to preserve any hope of the two of them remaining together, but the degree-less Rebecca had few marketable skills and a mountain of student debt. She could do worse than double minimum wage with free room and board, so had pretty much resigned herself to accepting the offer (which expired at midnight).
"Yes, not to mention the rest of those bitches from the sorority, including my former, so-called friends."
Later, when the teens had wandered off to the beach, Rebecca helped me serve the more mature guests. I could see Rebecca blush as she was forced to wait on and curtsy to several of Amanda's friends who were Rebecca's old sorority sisters at Dartmouth before she abruptly abandoned them.
For my part, this exchange among Amanda's and Ryan's former classmates was typical of what I heard throughout the afternoon:
Young man, laughing: "If Ryan can turn his father-in-law into his maid and force him to call him `my lord', I certainly wouldn't want to fuck with him."
Young woman: "Come on, Paul. I think you'd look cute in a maid's uniform. Ryan, do you need another maid?" General laughter.
Another young woman: "Forget Ryan. It's Amanda and her mom who are the real ball busters here. Amanda, maybe you and your mom could give seminars on how you did it. I would love to see my asshole father in a maid uniform waiting on me?"
And this was just the first party of many scheduled for the long month of August.
By 11 PM that night, all of Kyla's friends had gone home and most of the older guests had either left or were sleeping in one of the countless bedrooms in Shyla's parents' home. I found myself--still in my serving uniform, ready to bring whatever drink or late night snack was requested--in the large family room along with Amanda, Ryan, Paolo, Shyla, Rebecca, Kyla and Julie. The latter was a member of Shyla's and Rebecca's former Brown sorority. When Rebecca had been "queen bee" of the sorority, Julie was one of her sidekicks. Rebecca treated her as sort of an errand girl, part of the clique, but only insofar as she remained in Rebecca's good graces and did what she was told. When power shifted to Shyla, Julie was an early and eager defector. Shyla cemented Julie's allegiance by putting her in charge of supervising Rebecca in the execution of her numerous daily chores at the sorority house. The former queen bee thus became the errand girl to her former flunky. Julie, who would be entering her senior year in the fall, was a year younger than the recent graduate, Shyla, and the likely dropout, Rebecca.
"So, Becky, are you going to accept my generous offer of employment? Your time to decide is almost up," asked Shyla.
Rebecca (like me, still in her maid's uniform) looked at Shyla and Paulo and said, bravely but without conviction, "No, I'm sorry. I just don't think I can do it."
Paolo replied, "I'm sorry to hear you say that, babe. It's over, then, between us. Too bad, it could have been so much more."
Rebecca's lower lip began trembling and within two minutes she was crying hysterically. Paolo took her into another room. Twenty minutes later they returned to the family room, Rebecca's face red and still wet with tears.
"Shyla, Becky has something to ask you," said Paolo.
Rebecca ran over to where Shyla was sitting, got down on her knees and began frantically nuzzling Shyla's feet and kissing each toe. "I'm sorry that I turned down your incredibly generous offer, princess. It was just my stupid pride that clouded my judgment. Please take me on as your maid." I heard Kyla and Julie snicker.
"You had your chance, Becky. The offer has now been withdrawn."
"Please reconsider, merciful princess. I promise to be the best maid ever. I will go down on you whenever you want. I will clean you and Paolo up after you have sex. I will get A's on all of Princess Kyla's papers and serve at her parties. Please, princess, I beg you." Rebecca continued to grovel, planting kisses seemingly on every inch of Shyla's bare feet.
"Those are big promises, Becky. Very well, I will reconsider. However, the terms of the offer have now changed. Instead of $30 per hour, I will pay you a salary of $50,000 per year plus room and board. I will also pay for your health insurance. Thirty per hour equals $62,000 annually, so it is not much different. But I don't want you on a time clock. There will be some weeks when you will work less than 40 hours per week, but other weeks when you will be working many more hours than that. You will be on call round the clock. An hourly rate is simply not practical. This revised offer is good for 5 minutes."
Rebecca looked at Paolo uncertainly. "But between student loans and credit card debt, I owe almost $250,000. It will take me years to pay it off on that salary."
Paolo replied, "Get real, babe. It takes a lot of people ten years or more to pay off their student loans. Shyla is offering you free room and board and will pay you in cash, so no taxes. That's huge! Plus, you won't have to clean this place. Shyla's parents are going to buy her a place in the Hamptons that will only be about a quarter of the size or so, plus an apartment in Manhattan. Combined they will probably be less square footage than the sorority house. It will be a piece of cake for you. Besides I'm going to move in with her and we can all live together. How many cuckqueans not only get to live out their fantasy, but actually get paid for it? The three of us will have a blast. Don't be a fool, babe, accept it."
Shyla added, "You will be an at will employee, which means I can fire you or you can quit at any time, for any reason. I bet Amanda's step father can find someone to draft an employment contract."
Rebecca said, "Thank you, princess, I accept."
"Wait. Becky, there is one more condition to the offer, given all your waffling. You must agree to submit to a whipping tomorrow in front of everyone in this room--with the exception of Kyla, of course."
"Why not me?", Kyla objected.
Shyla responded, "You're only 15. Mother and father would not approve of you witnessing what will take place. Don't worry, you will get to participate in Becky's maintenance spankings and punishment spankings once she is in my employ."
"Okay, I guess," said the only partially placated Kyla.
"What's a maintenance spanking?", asked Amanda.
"Every Saturday night at the sorority house Becky had a date with the paddle, whether she had done anything wrong or not. Just to remind her of her place and keep her on her toes."
"What an excellent idea, father. I can't believe mom and Jason didn't think of it already. I'm sure they will love the concept."
"Yes, Miss Amanda." I curtsied.
"So, do you agree to this final condition, Becky?"
"Yes, I will submit, princess."
The following afternoon, the same group, with the exception of Kyla, descended into the basement of the mansion, where there was a large, fully equipped dungeon.
Amanda said, "Wow, this place is something!"
Paulo said, "Shyla`s parents are into the BDSM scene. Kyla doesn't know yet, so keep it quiet. They are both dominants."
Shyla, dressed in tight jeans, knee high boots and a tank top, ordered Rebecca to remove every stitch of clothing, save for her chastity belt and choker. She then asked Paulo to cuff her wrists over her head onto a bar attached to a pulley that twisted 360 degrees.
Shyla next handed Julie a bottle of baby oil and a pair of nipple clamps. "Julie, would you mind oiling Becky's entire body and putting these on her?"
Julie smiled. "It would be my pleasure."
Julie rubbed the oil into every crevice of Rebecca's body, including into the crack of her ass and the folds of her vagina, so that her body was glistening. Looking Rebecca directly in the eye with a smug expression, Julie then tweaked her nipples and squeezed them until they were hard before affixing the clamps. Finally, Shyla asked Paulo to unlock Rebecca and gag her.
Shyla then walked over to Rebecca, riding crop in hand.
"I know that you haven't had cummies in three weeks, Becky." Shyla teased her, rubbing her crop length wise into Rebecca's vagina. Rebecca shamelessly tried to hump the crop, but every time she seemed close to climaxing, Shyla would remove it. Once Rebecca reached an apex of frustration, Shyla began lashing her back, her buttocks, her thighs, her sides, even her breasts, as Rebecca twisted around in her bonds trying to escape the blows. Soon, Rebecca's body was covered in stripes, quite lovely in their way. When Shyla was finally finished, she hung limply in her bonds, whimpering. It was a scene that reminded me of the old film "The Story of O" and was truthfully one of the most erotic things I had ever witnessed.
Following her whipping, Paolo uncuffed Rebecca and gently carried her away to another room. I didn't see her for about an hour or so, but she then appeared in her maid uniform to help me prepare dinner. She was not her typical self with me; instead of the usual defiance and invective, she was clearly chastened and, in fact, found it difficult to meet my eye. I imagine that she was preoccupied by thoughts about her future-- potentially years of humiliating service to her former rival, a woman who had demonstrated the capacity to be cruel as well as vindictive. Or perhaps she was contemplating the magnitude of the humiliation she had suffered under the lash. Probably it was a combination of the two. She was also no doubt still in quite a bit of pain.
Later that week, Shyla had to travel out of state for a couple of days. Paulo and Rebecca stayed at the mansion with Amanda and Ryan during her absence and, interestingly, largely reverted back to a conventional couple during this brief period. Once again the sole servant, I treated Rebecca with the same deference I would any other guest of my daughter and son-in-law. When the two couples played tennis, I was back in my white tights, running around the court retrieving balls and fetching towels. It didn't take long for Rebeccas haughtiness to fully return, at least with respect to me. However, by the time the weekend rolled around, Shyla was back, and Rebeccas humiliations began anew, accompanied by her new, enhanced humility. At least I was in a constant state of subservience; I believe I would've found the vacillation that Rebecca experienced to be highly confusing, if not distressing.
In mid August, Lauren and Jason returned from the Amalfi coast, which meant I would be expected to provide Jason with the answer to his hypothetical question about whether I would pick more or less humiliation going forward, if given the choice. I had been thinking a lot about it and, quite candidly, was torn. There was part of me that obviously would've been relieved to be humiliated less intensely and less often, to be worked less hard and less constantly -- indeed, my sore knees, my tired feet and aching back all voted strongly in favor of me choosing that Jason go easier on me. On the other side of the equation was my desire for exceptionalism -- the exceptionalism of my subservience -- as well as my continued desire to balance the scales of karma. If Jason were to go easier on me, would I simply get bored? Would I become just another run-of-the-mill submissive? I also asked myself what more could Jason possibly do to me to amp up my humiliation than what he and the others had already done. I suppose it was my intellectual curiosity about this last question that broke the tie (my anxiety about the possible answers notwithstanding).
I remember the conversation well. Lauren was present as Jason and I spoke. He was sitting on the couch while I, still in uniform, was on my knees massaging his feet.
"Well, Jenkins, I expect that you have been giving my question due consideration while we were on our honeymoon."
"Yes, sir. I have thought about it extensively."
"And what is your answer?"
"Sir, if forced to choose, I would humbly request that you amp up your humiliation of me."
Jason looked over to Lauren and smiled. "You owe me dinner."
He then turned to me. "You see, Jenkins, when I said, hypothetically', I was not referring to whether or not I increase your humiliation. That was a foregone conclusion. By hypothetically' I was merely referring to you having any choice in the matter. You, of course, don't. I was simply curious as to what you would choose if you did have some say in the outcome. And, as you can see, I was correct in predicting that you would opt for still greater humiliation. Rest assured, it is coming. You just need to be a little patient."
"Yes, master. I understand". I (like Rebecca) contemplated my future as I carefully massaged each individual toe, in the manner he expected.
The remainder of August involved still more parties at Shyla's parents' estate, usually with me again serving side-by-side with Rebecca. At one party also attended by Penny and Kyle, George worked alongside Rebecca and me, dressed in one of my formal serving uniform hand-me-downs generously given by Lauren to Penny.
Amanda was quite correct that Lauren and Jason embraced the idea of introducing regular maintenance spankings into my schedule. These were set for every Saturday night after dinner, with flexibility to reschedule if necessary.
One other notable event happened the final week of the month, when I made a particularly serious error in proofreading. The document in question was for one of Forrest`s most important clients; when the client discovered the error, it was the source of not a little embarrassment for Forrest and the firm. In and of itself, I don't believe this mistake jeopardized the firm's relationship with the client, but it could have. And that must never be allowed to happen again.
My punishment was set to take place the final Thursday of the month, in one of the sitting rooms at the mansion. Penny was invited (it seems that her sadistic appetite for watching inferior males be dominated by superior ones was inexhaustible, and had not been satiated by Kyle and George entering her life). Also present, of course, were Lauren, Amanda, Ryan and Jane -- in addition, obviously, to the two aggrieved parties who were to mete out my punishment, Forrest and Jason. Given the egregious nature of my blunder, Jason asked Ryan to borrow my Christmas present to him, the notorious Canadian prison strap. I was to be given 10 strokes of the strap each by Jason and Forrest. Recalling the excruciating pain I suffered from only six strokes of the strap on Christmas Day, I sincerely questioned my ability to physically take it.
I entered the room, clad only in a pair of purple punishment tights, humiliatingly erect despite my anxiety. My erection quickly subsided after only one stroke, delivered by Jason. By the fifth stroke, tears were running down my face, and I was greatly tempted to beg Forrest in any way necessary to take pity on me and suspend the rest of my punishment. However, I still possessed sufficient clarity of mind to realize that it would have been futile, if not detrimental, to attempt this, so I clenched my teeth together and tightly gripped the hands of the armchair I was bending over while Forrest completed my correction.
My post punishment penance was more protracted and complex than usual. First, I was required to kneel on two straight back chairs arranged side-by-side for 30 minutes, hands clasped behind my back, with my tights pulled down so that my badly bruised bottom was exposed to everyone in the room. Next, I was instructed to pull up my tights and stand facing everyone, legs apart, and my arms held out straight in front of me with the prison strap resting upon them. My arms began to shake midway through this 30-minute segment of my penance. That did not stop my cock from tenting out my out hose, much to my shame. Finally, after everyone else had gone home or to bed, I was required to join Jason and Forrest out on the patio while the two of them smoked Cuban cigars and drank a bottle of one of the finest ports from my former wine cellar. Still dressed in my tights, I knelt between them on the hard patio pavers, holding an ashtray out in my extended arms to collect their ashes. Beneath my extended arms was the purple tent in my tights.
"Well, Jenkins, is the message clear that mistakes in your work for my clients won't be tolerated? That you must check, then double check your work, every time," asked Forrest.
"The message has been received loud and clear, Mr. Johnson, sir. Thank you for correcting me"
How does your ass feel Jenkins?", asked Jason.
"It still stings quite severely, master."
"Good. If you fuck up again, it will be a lot worse. That I can promise you"
"I understand, master."
When Forrest and Jason finished their cigars, Jason grabbed a fistful of my thick hair, pulled my head back roughly, and then placed the wet butt of his cigar against my lips, commanding me to inhale. I used to enjoy the occasional cigar quite a bit, but it had been over a year since I had one, so my reaction was to cough repeatedly. It was strange tasting Jason`s saliva on my lips as I sucked on the remnants of his cigar.
However, it was during a large party at the mansion on Labor Day weekend that the most noteworthy event of the month occurred when Amanda and Ryan announced to the guests that she was pregnant and was due next April.
Apparently, the family maid was soon to be a grandfather.