by Ella Ford
She’d changed into the uniform as instructed, and it looked quite wonderful on her. The black dress was functional and modest, falling to just above her knees and covering her to her neck. The sleeves were short and her delicate arms were exposed. Her slender legs wore the sheer black pantyhose and, on her feet, she’d pulled on the black ballet flats I’d provided. As a final touch, around her waist she tied a crisp, white apron. The apron was my one concession to aesthetics, it was frilly and absurd, not remotely practical. Yet I enjoyed the way it looked on her, the way she appeared unquestionably maid-like.
“Lillian, you look quite wonderful!” I said, not bothering to conceal my delight.
“Th-thank you, mistress,” she replied, any hint of the coarseness from earlier gone, for now.
I stood from the chair and stepped over to her, walking around behind her and studying the fit of the dress. She made no attempt to move, and remained staring down at the floor. She was breathing heavily and I could sense her nervousness. There was a palpable air of apprehension about her and I wondered what she was thinking. I reached out to pluck a fleck of lint from the otherwise pristine black dress and she flinched from me.
I returned to my seat and beckoned her over. She hurried across the room and stood before me.
“What is the matter Lillian?” I asked, ensuring that my voice was warm and friendly. Any darker desires that I was confronting were my issue to deal with and should be none of Lillian’s concern. “You seem quite tense dear.”
Lillian squirmed before me, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry mistress, it’s just I…” she stopped, her pretty face screwed up in apparent consternation.
I sat forward and laid my hand on her arm, a distant part of me relishing the softness of her young skin. “That’s okay dear, take your time. We’re all friends here.”
She sniffed and raised her head, her eyes locking on mine. “It’s just… I… I’ve never been with a woman before.”
I was momentarily startled, not just by her lack of experience, but also by the unexpected admission. “I’m not sure what you mean Lillian,” I said, probing her with my words.
She took a deep breath and spoke again. “I saw how you looked at me upstairs, it’s obvious why you want me. What you want to do to me.”
I blinked, surprised at how she saw me and burning with shame at her insight. “I-I’m not sure what you mean Lillian,” I protested, aware that I sounded awfully defensive. “I need a maid, to clean and cook for me, nothing more. If you have the wrong idea, then I’m sorry,” I said, wondering if I sounded remotely convincing.
She appeared to relax and her face softened to a gentle smile. “Thank you mistress, you’re very kind,” she said, her voice rich with a girly intonation where “very” came out “vewy”. She fluttered her eyelashes and spoke again in that damnably alluring voice. “I just want you to know that I’m nervous, but willing. If you want me, you can have me.”
I gasped, thrown off course by her words. I was suddenly unsure what to say, torn between a desire to do the right thing and a desire to take the girl and rip her clothes off right there and then. Instead, I looked at her, attempting to regain my composure. “Thank you Lillian. For now, we’ll have you doing chores. You can start in the kitchen. I’ve left you some cleaning utensils. Shout if you need anything.”
She nodded and smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Yes, mistress,” she purred then turned and walked into the kitchen.
I watched her go, studying every inch of her petite body, then fell back in the chair, my heart hammering and my mind racing.
---
For the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, Lillian went about the household chores. She started in the kitchen, cleaning every surface with the cleaning gear that I’d provided, then she hoovered and dusted the various display cabinets and ornaments that I liked to keep in my house.
Next, she moved into the living room, asking my permission to work in the room so as not to disturb me. I nodded my approval and she set about fastidiously tidying and arranging items neatly around me, then dusted every available surface.
I watched as she worked, enjoying the way her body moved - stretching up on her tiptoes to reach high surfaces, bending down on her hands and knees to clean behind the television unit. I found myself running through scenarios in my mind, daring to imagine what boundaries I might cross with her, how I might guide and mould her for my own pleasure. With each filthy consideration, I admonished myself and burned with shame. This young girl was in my charge, an employee of mine, and I had a duty of propriety to her. It staggered me how quickly I was overcome with lust and desire, despite my initial good intentions.
In time, she left the living room and I continued to read the magazine that lay open on my lap, my eyes skimming over the words but not really paying attention.
At four o’clock, she came back into the room and stood before me with her head slightly lowered and her hands crossed in front of her. She looked slightly dishevelled, the worn out look of someone who has spent many hours working very hard indeed. I felt not a small amount of relief that my maid was conscientious and hardworking.
“Yes, Lillian?” I asked her, careful to ensure that my warm smile betrayed none of my inner turmoil.
“I’ve finished the housework mistress. Did you have any more tasks for me?” she asked, her voice timid and meek, without a single hint of the coarseness from before.
I thought for a few minutes. “Thank you Lillian. I think I would very much like a bath. Would you be a dear and run one for me?”
She bowed her head obediently. “Yes mistress, right away,” she replied and hurried off up the stairs to the bathroom.
I gave her a few minutes, then stood and followed her upstairs. We met on the second floor landing and she fell instantly into the submissive pose that she seemed to have adopted so readily. “The bath is running mistress, will there be anything else?” Her voice seemed expectant and suggestive, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Thank you Lillian, you may take my clothes and hang them up when I am undressed,” I said and led her into the bathroom where I began to unbutton my blouse.
“May I help you mistress?” asked Lillian, studying me with the same guileless expression that she always wore.
I looked at her, studying her expression, measuring her intent. I was torn between wanting to allow this pretty blonde girl to undress me and not wanting to give her the wrong idea and find myself in a situation that was improper.
“Thank you Lillian, that would be most kind,” I finally replied, setting aside my reservations.
Lillian stepped towards me and stood with her body inches from mine. Immediately, I could feel the warmth of her and smell the subtle, clean aroma of soap on her skin. She began with my blouse, fumbling at each button with trembling hands.
The poor thing was terrified, I realized. But rather than awakening a protective urge within me, I found that her timid obedience thrilled me. I felt a warmth gathering in my loins, an insistent throb that pulsed waves of desire throughout my body. As she slipped the satin blouse over my shoulders and down my arms, her fingers brushed my skin and I shuddered, fighting back the urge to gasp. Her touch was electric, sparking between us with forbidden energy. I longed to reach out and pull her to me, locking my mouth on hers, feeling the gentle swell of her breasts pushed against mine.
She reached down and began to unfasten my skirt. The button came away easily and she hooked her fingers into the waistband and eased the tight garment down my thighs. The skirt fell to the floor and I kicked it aside with my stockinged foot. Lillian fell to her knees before me and gathered the blouse and skirt over her arm and placed them on the lip of the sink. Then she turned and returned to me and began to roll my tan thigh high stockings down my legs.
I gazed at her, frozen like a deer in the headlights. Unable to resist her tender touches, thrilling at look of docile compliance on her pretty face. She pulled the soft nylon off my fee
t and placed the stockings with my other clothes. Then she looked up at me, still kneeling on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.
“May I continue mistress?” she said, her eyes flicking forward to my white lace panties.
I gasped, suddenly wanted nothing more than to have this wayward teen remove my underwear with her teeth. But I held back, at once deeply ashamed of my insatiable lust and the filthy thoughts that were flooding through my mind.
“N-no, thank you Lillian, that will be all for now,” I said with a dismissive note that came out considerably more harsh than I intended. Lillian’s face fell and she lifted herself to her feet, then gathered up my clothes and nodded to me. Then, with a heartbreaking look of dejection, she left the room.
I opened my mouth, intending to call her back, intending to take her there and then, to smother her with my mouth and explore her nubile body. But I remained quiet, rooted to the spot and cast around on a sea of confused emotions.
---
I laid in the bath for an hour or more, enjoying the warm water and the soothing bubbles, but unable to relax. My mind was alive with guilt and shame and desire, a heady cocktail that made it impossible to settle. My confused feelings for Lillian were overwhelming, a debilitating mix of protectiveness and forbidden lusts. I knew that I had to make things right.
So I got out of the bath and hastily towelled myself off, then headed out of the bathroom and across the wide landing to my bedroom, slipping a comfortable robe around my shoulders as I left.
When I entered my room, I was instantly aware that something was amiss. The clothes that Lillian had removed were casually tossed onto the floor, not folded away as I’d instructed. I scanned around the room, and my eyes fell on an ornate dresser by the window. The drawers were hanging open, loose pieces of underwear were hanging out and cast around the floor and bed. Numbly, I stepped towards the scattered clothing, not yet able to comprehend what had happened. Had we been broken into? Was I danger? Was Lillian in danger?
My heart hammered as I approached the dresser, then I noticed that my jewelry box was upturned and its contents were scattered around it. I pawed at the various rings and necklaces, aware at once that most of my jewelry was missing! A diamond ring, my engagement ring from my ex-husband; a pearl pendant, a family heirloom from my mother’s side. Countless precious artifacts, gone!
I turned and hurried out of the bedroom, suddenly overtaken with a frantic urge to get out of there. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard movement from below and stopped in place, frozen to the spot and unable to move. As I watched, Lillian emerged from the living room clutching a bag over her shoulder. I recognized the bag, it was one of mine. It appeared to be stuffed full with clothes and other items. Lillian scurried across the hallway in the direction of the front door, never once looking around.
Suddenly I realized what was happening here. Lillian’s doe eyes and obedient nature, the way she had appeared to seduce me and manipulate my emotions until I was breathless with desire. It was all a game, a trick to lull me into a trusting trance, and then she’d robbed me! The little bitch!
I felt an anger rising inside me, a burning rage that clouded my vision and flushed my cheeks with its sudden intensity.
“Lillian!” I shouted, not even bothering to temper my voice, allowing the pent up frustration that I felt to emerge in one piercing shout.
She stopped in her tracks with her hand on the front door handle. Then she turned towards me and looked up the stairs. Her face was a mask of rebellion and fear, she’d obviously not expected to be caught. She began to turn the handle of the door, clutching the bag tight to her shoulder.
“Take your fucking hand off that door this second Lillian, you little bitch,” I said, starting my way down the stairs towards her. To my surprise, she withdrew her hand from the door, and backed into it, shying away from my booming voice.
“M-mistress,” she began, and it became clear that her contrition was no longer a game. She was genuinely scared. The realization thrilled me and I embraced the feeling this time, no longer holding it in check with shame or guilt.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped with ten feet between us. If she’d wanted to, she could have turned, opened the door and escaped before I could have reached her. But she remained where she was, clutching the bag and cowering before me.
“Lillian, put down the bag,” I commanded, injecting enough force into my words to make it perfectly clear that I was telling, not asking.
She looked at me, hesitating for a single second, then she placed the bag down beside her feet. The canvas bag collapsed on the floor and spilled out an assortment of clothes and jewelry.
“Did you think you could get away with robbing me?” I said with a venomous smile.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t…” she said, then dropped her head, no longer able to look at me.
“It’s time that we made a few things clear,” I said. “Lillian, I’d like you to go into the living room and kneel on the floor beside the sofa. Cross your arms behind your back and wait for me to return. You and I are going to have a little talk.”
With that, I turned and climbed the stairs, leaving her standing where she was. I knew that she could pick up the bag and still leave the house, but I didn’t think she would.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I risked a glance back into the hallway. With no real surprise, I found the door still closed and the bag still scattered across the floor. Of Lillian, there was no sign.
Chapter 3
Now
Before playtime can begin tonight, there is the important matter of household business. I’d left explicit instructions with the girl that morning that she should neatly fold the laundry and leave it in the laundry room, ready for ironing tomorrow. But when I returned home, I found the laundry still in the drier, unfolded and forgotten.
The girl had insisted that she’d intended to do it, but that cleaning the house after last night’s party had taken her longer than she’d anticipated. She might have been telling the truth - the parties that I throw these days tend to be quite raucous, debauched affairs with every one of my guests finding herself entirely satisfied with the entertainment. But that wasn’t the point. I had left instructions for the girl and she had disobeyed me. It was none of my concern that she couldn’t keep up with her chores, it was simply for me to ensure that discipline was maintained.
And that meant that she needed to be punished.
I walk over to the corner table and retrieve my favorite paddle. A rigid wooden implement, like an elongated ping pong bat, it makes a very satisfying sound as it strikes the girl’s bottom. I’m sure she enjoys it as much as I do, though her cries and sobs suggested a different story. But, as I’ve come to realize over the months of her employment with me, what my maid thinks and what my maid does were seldom coincident.
I step back to the table and her exposed ass. As I return, I ensure that she can see the paddle in my hand and I offer her a suggestive smile. Her face hardens with fear, the anticipation of the pain flooding her with adrenaline. But there is something else in her expression, a deep need that I’d come to expect and enjoy. For all that the punishment hurts the girl, it thrills her as much as it does me. She needs discipline, needs to be taken in hand and given structure. Our relationship is completely symbiotic, she gives me what I need - obedience, loyalty… pleasure - and I give her what she needs.
I position myself behind her and to one side. Then I lightly caress the firm flesh of her ass, enjoying the way she trembles beneath my hand. I raise the paddle above my head, pausing for a few tantalising seconds, then bring it down on her ass cheek. There’s a loud crack and the girl cries out a muffled yelp, biting down on the ball bag and jumping forward on the table.
I feel a familiar heat building in my pussy, a strong feeling of desire and longing that surges through me and warms me to my core. Oh, how I enjoy playtime, particularly if there is to be a punishment. I think back, relieving the first time that I
was forced to punish the girl, how it had made me feel - crippled with guilt but intoxicated with lust. The guilt, as intense as it had felt at the time, hadn’t lasted for very long at all.
Before
I sat on the sofa with my back perfectly straight and my hands folded on my lap. After leaving Lillian in the hallway, I’d returned to my room and dressed, pulling on the clothes that Lillian had removed earlier. I enjoyed the way the crisp business attire made me feel, how the soft nylon stockings made my legs look. I felt powerful and commanding, perfect for what I intended to do.
I looked down at Lillian, who I’d found kneeling as instructed on the floor of the living room. She was perfectly still and calm, but for the quick rhythm of her breathing. Her eyes were lowered to the floor and her arms were folded behind her back, making her chest push forwards provocatively. I licked my lips, teasing out the seconds to build her anticipation.
“Lillian,” I began, “it’s clear that there’s been a misunderstanding between us.” My voice was calm and assured, almost warm and friendly. “Don’t you agree?”
She nodded, but didn’t say a word.
“It seems that you assumed I was one of your marks, a perverted John who you can rip off without fear of retribution or consequence. Would that about sum it up Lillian?” I asked, cocking my head to one side inquisitively.
“Y-yes mistress, I’m sorry…” she began and I raised my hand to silence her.
“Be quiet Lillian. I do not wish to hear you blather on.” She fell silent and her head bowed lower. “Now, it seems that we have reached a fork in the road, a moment of momentous decision. It is time for you to decide what you want - on the one hand, you can choose a home, a job, food and lodging, and discipline.” I took care to emphasise the last word. “On the other hand, you can choose to return to your life on the street. Turning tricks for disgusting Johns, beaten by pimps and passed around like a hookah pipe. Long nights in the winter wind, and no hope of ever amounting to anything.”